


Of Blades and Blood | Witcher

by van_der_eretein



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-02-16 22:54:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 28,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13063875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/van_der_eretein/pseuds/van_der_eretein
Summary: [post-Blood and Wine]After the witcher let him go, Dettlaff fled Toussaint and the dead woman who tore him to pieces. He intended to stay far from men for as long as he could, but Regis finds him a miserable mess only twenty years later. With his aid, Dettlaff slowly returns to the man he was, but what’s missing is his ability to feel anything other than pain and regret, and he loses hope he has any good future at all. Then, alas, a wounded and feisty half-elf by the name of Alma, scorned by the world, stumbles upon him, and in one another they find personality and heartache surprisingly similar to their own. Yet neither readily admits their bond, and neither realize the fate they thought they’d get is very far from the truth.





	1. Far From Men

**Author's Note:**

> hey, guys! I would LOVE feedback, especially since this is my first attempt at Witcher fic. I've been writing original stories for years, and fic for another fandom, but doing the Witcher characters justice is another challenge - Regis is terribly complex and we have so little on Dettlaff as is. so I would love for some comments! thank you!

Dettlaff was a man of his word and he’d remained true to what he told the witcher about going far from men.

In as little as just a few days after the events of Toussaint, he’d made it as far as the Mahakam Mountains. It was there that he’d found a large cavern fit for solitude, a place no mortal could find. A place difficult for even one of his own to locate, well hidden among rocks and trees. It was just as he wished it.

The moment of his arrival was still and, at least as far as one could tell, Dettlaff was calm. He had steady hands, normal breathing, no immediate and consuming emotion. He first made certain no other creature dwelled in the cave and sat for a moment in silent agony. Until, at last, he  _ truly  _ broke for the first time since his departure.

It was hard for him to know for certain how long his collapse lasted. He was, at the end of it, surrounded in broken rock and used such great might in releasing his emotions that he’d broken a few of his own bones. Though they healed in moments and Dettlaff, even though an immortal creature of immense strength, was  _ tired _ .

So the broken vampire took his rest against the cold wall and fought none of it.

~~~

_ The witcher and Regis ran into the room looking panicked. Dettlaff and his Rhenawedd stood before them. After a moment of silence, Regis spoke, moving to stand by the crackling fire. _

_ "Now we need only find Anna Henrietta's sister. Where should we look? Do you know?" _

_ The witcher, his rough voice more serious than usual, replied, "Mhm... Ran into Roderick, Dun Tynne's lord. Told me where I'd find Syanna." _

_ "Then speak and let's grab her," the vampire quickly said. "Time is short." _

_ The witcher knelt by the fire, not in any rush. All eyes were upon him. _

_ "Said she was in a room in the tower...very one we're in right now. Which, incidentally, looks nothing like a prison cell. And just so happens there's a carafe full of wine here. Bet it's stolen Sangreal." _

_ As he spoke, Dettlaff's mind began to whir. But no...it was impossible. Rhena would never… _

_ Yet, glancing at Regis, he could practically see the cogs of the fellow vampire's mind churning away. He wondered if they were thinking the same thing. _

_ "What's your point?" Rhenawedd drawled, turning her body towards Geralt. _

_ "Giving you one chance – to tell us everything, yourself," said the witcher gruffly. _

_ "I've nothing to tell." _

_ Dettlaff's mind continued to pound with possible explanations, refusing to believe the ones that brought him pain. Rhenawedd would not deceive him. _

_ "Witcher...what is this?" he demanded. _

_ The witcher stood up and looked at him. _

_ "Sorry, Dettlaff," he said. "You've been had." _

_ Dettlaff shook his head just slightly. Almost immediately, he also realized Regis could likely feel what he was. That was something Dettlaff found irritating at times, the way their blood bond worked. He could even sense what was going on in his mind. _

_ "My friend, please. You must listen to what Geralt has to say." _

_ Dettlaff said nothing and merely looked at his blood brother, then back to the witcher. With his eyes, he prompted Geralt to continue. _

_ "Rhena's not her real name. This is Syanna, and Syanna is sister to Anna Henrietta, the Duchess of Toussaint." _

_ Dettlaff was pacing. He couldn't bear to hear it. _

_ "What? What nonsense is this?" he questioned the witcher, growing angrier by the second. His Rhena wouldn't! Yes, that was her name – Rhena. Not Syanna! _

_ "Syanna was banished as a child, but it seems she trekked back here recently. Moved into Dun Tynne and ran a vandaguild out of here. Sent a man called The Cintrian to Beauclair to steal some wine for her, wine reserved for the ducal family. Cintrian led us to her. Caught him later stealing a jewel Syanna'd gotten from her father as a child." _

_ Dettlaff was pacing quicker, thinking hard. _

_ "Hmmm..." _

_ It all made sense, it made perfect sense. But it was betrayal, deceit, lies. That was not the Rhenawedd he knew. The woman he loved so dearly, she would not… _

_ But she did. _

_ "Sorry, Dettlaff. She used you. Part of her plan." _

_ Dettlaff fell back with the witcher's words. His fingers twitched as he grew angrier, as he grew so close to giving into the beast within him. He was in denial, his heart slowly tearing into pieces. _

_ He looked back at Rhena – no, Syanna. He knew it was true just by this, for she looked guilty of the crime Geralt spoke of. Dettlaff's face rose into a snarl and he moved to the window, trying his best to keep calm and not lash out. To not give into his violent, primal instincts. _

_ But his anger was too fierce. It was as if he could hear the beast growling in his mind, telling him to harm her for what she did. For the deceit, the very deceit that made her so...human. _

_ He finally caved when he heard her footsteps approach, then her familiar touch grazed his left shoulder. Immediately, Dettlaff turned around and wrapped his hand around her neck, slamming her against a nearby wall. She struggled against him and out of the corner of his eyes, he saw the witcher advance and reach for his sword. Regis wordlessly stopped him with a hand outstretched and a simple shake of the head. _

_ Dettlaff gave Rhena – Syanna – one look of fury before he let go and stumbled back. A sharp pain ran through his heart at the sight of her face, after all, the face he had loved and admired for so long. What was he doing? He was – is – a monster trying to kill his love! _

_ No, not his love. Not anymore. She deceived him, did she not? She deserves it! She no longer loves him – she never loved him! _

_ Dettlaff shook his head as he heard her feet hit the ground again. She gave him a puzzled and scared expression. He gave her a glare and growled, "You will come to Tesham Mutna and explain all. If you do not, I will raze Beauclair to the ground. This I promise you." _

_ He stepped forward threateningly. Syanna turned away from him, prepared for a strike. But he did not raise a hand. _

_ "You've three days. I shall be waiting." _

_ With the ache in his heart growing stronger, Dettlaff moved towards the window. Just before he reached it, he transformed into mist, flying into the breezy night. _

~~~

There were countless tears and countless cries. A paralyzing weakness and a need for great effort in making the smallest movement. The cave trembled with the very action of Dettlaff screaming in agony, the vampire breaking more every minute. He had been sitting in his misery for days. Weeks. Months.

Dettlaff, a being aged centuries, never had a great concept of time any further than dusk and dawn taking place over and over again. And he’d always been quite capable of sitting in stillness for extended periods of time. Though this did little for him when it occurred to him that a year could have passed. Even two. Perhaps more.

Nothing, not even time, could stop his terrible pain from coursing through him during all of his waking moments. A cycle of such depression being the very reason for him not being able to distinguish each day from the other. A cycle of crushing sadness. Anger. Misery. Heartbreak.  _ Regret _ .

Oh, the regret was the worst. Dettlaff was no murderer, certainly not of innocents. He’d never been interested in killing people - much less drinking their blood - and because of this he’d always been odd in the eyes of his kin. He simply saw no sense in the sport.

Yet here he was, having killed men, women, and children alike, all of whom he had no qualms or issues with. In fact, one had become something of a friend, a kind human among many who were liars.  _ Manipulators _ .

Syanna, the vile woman, had made him a _murderer_! A man he’d gone out of his way to avoid becoming. All for naught but decades - perhaps centuries - of _utter anguish_.

~~~

_ He flew through the ruins of Tesham Mutna in swirling clouds of black and red smoke, finally seeing Syanna pacing, anxiously awaiting his arrival. He circled around her slowly, menacingly, drowning in his sorrow and fury. _

_ "Rhen..." he growled. Syanna looked around at the sound of his voice, waiting for him to materialize. _

_ "Syanna...Syanna...I've a question I must ask you." _

_ So Dettlaff finally revealed himself, making Syanna gasp and turn towards him. Several feet away, he saw Regis and Geralt get to their feet. _

_ Dettlaff walked toward the woman, keeping calm before her eyes while his blood secretly boiled within him. _

_ "Did you truly feign it all? That which bound us was a...ruse?" _

_ Syanna was just in front of him now, and her outstretched hand reached for his chest softly, trying to work her charm on him. But it would not succeed, not this time. He forcefully jerked his body away from her. _

_ "Dettlaff," she began, reaching for his face, "it's not that simple. I---" _

_ "Oh, no. It's very simple. You either deceived me...or not." _

_ He grabbed her wrist and tugged it away from his face. With his strength, a small sound of struggle escaped her lips. He saw the witcher uncross his arms and share a worried glance with Regis. Something in Dettlaff's own mind growled and his anger grew. _

_ "In forgiving you, I grieve..." _

_ He pulled her arm downward, and Syanna struggled further. Dettlaff watched the fear grow in her eyes, but the beast inside him called to him, enticed his thoughts. The witcher and Regis caught on, and began running toward them. _

_ "...for now we must part." _

_ On his right hand, his fingernails extended into long claws like the sharpest swords. With one quick slice, they went deep through Syanna's middle as she let out a pained moan. Blood spewed all around them and soaked her clothes, infiltrating Dettlaff's nose with the sweet smell. _

_ The witcher and Regis stopped in their tracks. Syanna died quickly, falling in his arms. _

_ "Mm... A shame," Dettlaff whispered, hearing her heart's last beat. _

_ "Syanna!" the witcher called out breathlessly. _

_ Dettlaff, ignoring the others, set Syanna on the ground before him, heart throbbing with pain. Whether that was from killing her or what she did to him, he wasn't entirely certain. Dettlaff then reached up to close her eyes, which were wide open and still fearful. It was the last payment he could give for the love she gave him, while her slaughter was payment for her trickery. _

_ Dettlaff gazed at her resting face for a moment, his heartache having grown almost unbearable. But until he was alone, he would not let the others see it. Regis likely being able to feel it was enough. _

_ The vampire looked up. Geralt and Regis both stood still where they stopped, and the witcher's silver sword was out. Dettlaff wondered if he planned to use it...he would fail in his endeavors. As for his blood brother – whose side would he take should Dettlaff fight the witcher? _

_ With a quick movement, Dettlaff evaporated for but a moment, reappearing just before the two of them. _

_ "What did you do...?" Regis' trembling, surprised voice asked. _

_ "What I had to do. What she deserved. Beauclair will know peace once more. The vampires will have left the city by dawn. I shall leave as well. Go far away, far from men." _

_ Dettlaff took a small pause. Both the witcher and his fellow vampire looked to be processing all of what had happened, all of what Dettlaff was saying. _

_ "You can try to stand in my way. Then I shall kill you both, though that is not at all my will. The decision is yours." _

_ Dettlaff looked at the witcher, who he knew had the last say in the matter. He had a contract over Dettlaff's head, after all, for Dettlaff was the monster, the Beast of Beauclair. Whether or not he would attempt to fulfill that contract tonight was up to him, not Regis. _

_ The witcher took a long moment to reply. Before Dettlaff grew impatient, he finally spoke, looking mildly bitter while he did so. _

_ "You can go," he put his sword back in its sheath, golden eyes glaring at him. "But if ever we meet again..." _

_ "I shall keep my distance. Believe me." _

_ Dettlaff stepped back, now incredibly eager to leave. His heartbreak ate away at him, he wished so dearly to be alone. It was such a terrible pain, a fate he would not wish on anyone. Syanna was the only one Dettlaff had ever loved and when they were together, when they had been happy, he would have been content with never loving another. It was enough - but that was back then. Now, it was gone. Shattered into thousands of blood-stained pieces. _

_ He did not wish to be in the company of anyone. Ever again. _

_ "Geralt, Regis... Farewell." _

~~~

It had likely been five years. Or perhaps it had been ten. Fifteen. Even fifty. How could Dettlaff possibly know? It hardly mattered anyway. In fact, little did.

He was still torn. Ripped to pieces over what he’d been forced to do. What  _ she’d  _ done to him. He was going mad after sitting in torment for so long, tortured by even sleep for it was no escape. He feared it, for the memories he’d carefully extracted from his mind upon his arrival were returning with great force.

There were times Dettlaff was even calm, at least somewhat, and thus started to think he could at least leave the dark, damp cavern he’d taken to like a mad hermit. Yet he could hardly bring himself a few feet from the entrance. He was as scared of it as he’d grown of closing his eyes. And he’d grown scared of fear itself, for it was not familiar to him. It made the outside world all the more awful.

~~~

Dettlaff felt dead. He was feeling everything and yet nothing at the same time. It made him wish he was dead. He didn’t know how long he’d spent soaking in his own misery, but he knew it had been a long while.

His heart ached. He didn’t know how to fix it.

If only he’d fought the witcher. Geralt had a slim chance of victory but Dettlaff had a feeling he’d be better off in a grave, whether permanently or not. It was better than whatever he had now.

He was a  _ monster _ . Even his old friend had been a victim of his brutality and foolishness. His only friend, a man who would now be ashamed to know Dettlaff. Indeed, the broken vampire could admit to himself that he quite missed Regis. But he would never curse the man with his presence. Dettlaff was not worthy of someone so noble.

~~~

It had been well over a decade, but Dettlaff made a small improvement at last. He could rest without being plagued by phantoms of the past, and it helped pass the time much easier.

When he next woke up, Dettlaff knew it had been several years more. He stretched his stiff muscles when he got up and looked around him. He now wished to know how long it had been, truly. He was making simple guesses and no more.

Though what did that matter? It wasn’t as if he planned to leave the cavern. He already hadn’t for what was  _ undoubtedly  _ years. He meant it when he said he was going to remain far from men, and he was going to fulfill this for much longer. They were dishonest, unloyal, weak creatures, humans. What did they matter to him? What did anyone matter?

~~~

One day, much later, the rock at the entrance shifted. There were winding pathways leading to it, but his enhanced senses caught it immediately.

The footsteps that had the  _ nerve  _ to enter - after having somehow found the place - were swift and light. There was an irritating confidence about the movements.

Dettlaff transformed, long claws ready to attack whatever had the audacity to  _ disturb  _ him. It approached quickly, with ease. Dettlaff was lunging for it with all other senses dulled, yet he realized the moment before he reached it that it reeked of herbs.

He couldn’t stop himself in time, but his old friend immaterialized and appeared a few feet away without difficulty or delay. Dettlaff took a long time, in turn, to look back at him, facing the grey stone before him. Regis, on the other hand, remained silent for a short while, allowing Dettlaff to regain some sense.

Though the very scent of the vampire, his very presence, brought terrible thoughts to Dettlaff. Reminders of what had happened in Toussaint. Before Dettlaff finally turned to protest the other’s appearance, the other spoke at last.

“It has been almost precisely twenty years, my friend. Now, hardly very long in our senses of time, but long enough. You proved quite the challenge for me to find.”

Dettlaff looked at Regis in silence for an extended pause, a whole cache of intense feelings he couldn’t separate from each other bubbling up in his chest. The other vampire glanced back, though turned away while pondering at something. He began to pace.

“What is it? Why are you here?”

Dettlaff struggled to release the words.

“To help you, Dettlaff.”

“I do not need or want it.”

“You have been sitting in solitude for twenty years and I sense great misery from you. I’m here to remind you that you’ve still a future. Our lifespans demand it.”

Dettlaff shook his head. He didn’t deserve it nor did he wish to be in company. He’d now grown accustomed to the loneliness and his deeds rendered him unworthy of any future Regis saw for him.

Regis obviously sensed what Dettlaff was feeling, as it had always been since Dettlaff found his remains at the ruined castle and nurtured them to health. He sighed.

“I believe, in fact, you can come to  _ love  _ again, with it being returned unconditionally. In time, naturally. I see that you deserve it, and as a dear friend of mine, I wish to help you see the same.  _ That  _ is why I’ve come. You are a good person and always have been, Dettlaff - you’re simply lost, now more than ever. I shall help you.”


	2. Moonlight

The laborious process of recovering Dettlaff from darkness was not unlike Regis’ regeneration. What Vilgefortz had done to him was alarmingly similar to what Syanna had done to his dear friend’s emotions. Dettlaff might as well have been just a wet smear himself.

Yet Regis was overjoyed to find him and additionally happy to be able to aid him. He still owed Dettlaff an enormous debt, and helping him live again like Regis did would pay off much of it. After all, it was already taking a painstakingly long time. Though Dettlaff was as patient as ever when Regis was being built from nothing. Being just as patient was the least Regis could hope to do.

Over the course of another long year, Regis coaxed Dettlaff away from the cavern he’d remained concealed in for decades. He brought him closer to villages every day simply to get him accustomed to people again. Regis was all the more thankful that he could sense what Dettlaff was feeling - his stony face revealed naught otherwise.

It was slow improvement, indeed, but improvement nonetheless. So much so that after it had been about a year since their reuniting, Regis decided they ought to leave the cavern, and the mountains, completely. Dettlaff was hesitant, but ultimately agreed. That alone was a great stride - him accepting help.

Not long after their departure - a few days into the quiet journey - they came across yet another village. This one was mostly destroyed and had been raided only recently. It was when the vampires came upon it that Regis also realized the sickly sweet scent he caught over a mile back came from here - it was blood.

Upon listening closer, Regis also realized the remaining villagers had taken to a house further back, panting and coughing in the midst of sickness. It was the structure most intact compared to its neighbors, which was hardly saying much considering half the village had turned to ash.

“You want to help,” Dettlaff stated suddenly. Regis nodded firmly.

“It’s only right. I am still a surgeon, after all.”

Dettlaff let out a small sigh, clearly agitated by being so close to humans after so long away from them. Though as long as he did not come too close for comfort, the exposure was beneficial.

“You may stay here while I tend to them. I doubt you wish to be near.”

Dettlaff did not reply, but to indicate that the other was right he leaned against the shack that was caving in next to them and crossed his arms over his chest. Thus, Regis left his friend’s side and slowly approached the old cabin. The smell of blood grew stronger with every few steps, though soon it was accompanied by smells less pleasant - sweat and vomit being most prominent.

The barber-surgeon soon saw through the windows that there were perhaps ten people in total, coughing and wheezing or grimacing as they held their wounds. Regis was grateful he’d taken up medicine. While it was hard at the beginning of his studies, the field still allowed him to get used to it and forget his horrid past. Blood smelled pleasant to him, but only by genetics - all desire to drink it had luckily gone away many years ago.

One man came outside the house and did not catch Regis’ presence, instead leaning against the wall. Despite his old age, he looked the healthiest of all the people. He also looked to be the village elder. He steadied himself on only a frail cane when Regis came near, grey eyes and bushy white eyebrows suddenly staring at him intensely.

“What is it ye want?!”

Regis put his hands up gently and stepped forward, only a few feet from the man.

“There’s no reason for you to fret. I’m a surgeon, I can tend to your wounded.”

The old man’s scowl softened and he looked desperate just then. Wordlessly, he hobbled into the shack behind him and Regis heard him say to the others, “Praise Melitele, a doctor’s come!”

There were a few loud, thankful cries from women and men alike. Then the old man’s head poked back through the entryway and he ushered Regis in, “Come, come! E’ryone’s in ‘ere!”

With outward confidence, Regis stepped forward with his hands on the strap of the bag slung across his chest. Yet inside always bubbled a fear that humans would find him out. He did truly wish to live among them and never really found his place -  _ yet _ .

Briefly, before disappearing inside, Regis looked over at his friend. Dettlaff stood still in the place he had last been in, resting in a kingdom between sleep and vigilance as vampires were wont to do when waiting. An odd calm reached Regis’ heart, one he hadn’t been so sure of before now. It was with an unexpected and peculiar certainty that he knew Dettlaff would be alright. Perhaps sooner than he thought.

Regis went inside the torn house to greet the people. The old man was indeed the village elder and with him were two women, three men, and two small children. Presumably, everyone else was dead.

The people told him the story of how their little village fell - a Scoia’tael attack just a few days prior. Regis had little interest in their quarrels but felt great pity for them getting wounded and watching the others die. While the elves’ scorn made sense, was it not a worse offense to return the favor against innocent humans?

The villagers also grew a bit closer to discovering his true nature. Though they were questions posed well enough for him to easily evade them, Regis was not the type to deny it in most companies. He hardly ever confirmed it either, though - the greatest exception was when he was in Geralt’s old hansa. That, however, was a story for a different time - the thought of his old friends made him terribly sad.

“Have you not got a side, doctor?” cried one of the women whose ankle had been twisted in the skirmish, referring to the Scoia’tael attack.

“No. I hardly meddle in such matters, if that opinion is alright with you.”

“But you’re human!”

Regis remained quiet, focusing on a man’s shoulder wound before him. It was so deep and sliced with such a sharp blade, the man likely wouldn’t lift his arm much again. The same went for the man beside him - he would be lame for the rest of his life. That is, if the diseases didn’t kill any of them. Humans  _ were  _ quite frail.

 

It was just after sundown when Regis finally emerged from the house and looked around for his friend. He found him in the same place and the same position as before.

“You are remarkably patient at times even I don’t expect it,” he said as he approached, wiping his bloody hands with an old rag. Dettlaff shrugged, “I have nothing else to do but wait.”

“You could...walk around.”

“What for? I am not in the mood.”

Regis sighed, “Very well then. Accompany me to the stream we passed before, though, will you? I’m afraid I’m going to need more than an old rag to wash this off. The smell is growing sickening, if you can believe it. Likely the infections…”

He was walking off before Dettlaff agreed - though the other nonetheless followed in serious silence. The trip was several minutes worth, but they shortened it considerably. They remained quiet for some time throughout Regis cleaning his skin of infected blood.

“They kept pressing me on what side I took in their battle with the Squirrels, in which they lost several. Sometimes they get a bit tiring, I must admit. They were surprised at my having no side.”

“What did they say?” Dettlaff asked in subtle disinterest.

“‘But you’re human!’ when I took no side. Ah, I didn’t confirm nor deny it.”

“Did they ask about where you came from?”

With this, Dettlaff was more attached to his voice. Clearly he had more concern for the ghosts looming behind him.

“No, nor have they seen you, so you needn’t worry.”

“And they did not ask after our nature?”

“No, thankfully. I believe I would have handled it well otherwise, as we often must, but questions nearing one’s vampiric nature tend to get a bit awkward, don’t you think?”

Dettlaff shrugged once again in return. Regis rose from his kneel at the edge of the water and wiped his hands on a dryer rag he had with him. He next peered at his friend, since the other was so often hard to read. And now, he also didn’t seem to be feeling as much as he used to. Regis wondered after that being a good or a bad thing.

“For once, I’m having a hard time figuring out what it is you’re feeling,” said the surgeon, hoping to get something out of his broken companion. Dettlaff, however, took a moment to reply.

“I am not feeling as much as I think I ought to.”

“I can sense that much. That’s new.”

There was a long pause. Regis’ anxious hands returned to his bag’s strap and both of the vampires looked out at the stream of clear water, vines flowing off rocks like their own waterfalls and falling across the surface.

Perhaps this new thing of Dettlaff’s heart was directly connected to what Regis felt about his future earlier. It could have been a sign that he was soon to find happiness, or at the least let go of all the pain he’d sat in for twenty whole years. It seemed improbable to Regis that his friend should recover so soon, yet Dettlaff felt things so deeply that a sliver of hope could very well change everything.

Regis looked over at the other. Dettlaff still stared at the gleaming water with eyes filled of worry and loneliness. For a second, Regis felt as he must have been, but when Dettlaff came back to the present there was little more of the feeling left. Regis felt his own concern swirling around him.

“Are you alright, my friend?”

Dettlaff merely nodded. Regis did the same back, also knowing the other didn’t linger on feelings and he certainly didn’t talk about it often.

“Well, should we return to the people? I know they’ll need my care for a bit longer.”

Dettlaff shook his head now, keeping his eyes on the beautiful, still water.

“No, I will stay here. I shall join you soon.”

Regis didn’t urge him to do otherwise, “Of course.”

Then, in a cloud of smoke, Regis left to the run-down village and Dettlaff in solitude again. Not without worry, naturally, but there was still something there that shone through the darkness. Like the moonlight, soft and pale, bursting amongst a black sky. Regis had seen the moon as a comfort that remained even when generations of humans died before him, and if he found comfort in it, Dettlaff did as well. And for now, it would serve in his stead.


	3. Certainty

It only took a couple days more for Dettlaff to grow weary of being around the same people and place. Regis insisted they stay for just a little while longer in order to help them return to health - Dettlaff had a feeling, however, he wished them to stay so Dettlaff could get used to people again. The most irritating part about it was that it worked.

Something in him also still admired Regis’ determination to help those he could and how much he cared, even if it was of a stranger. And a human, at that. After all, Dettlaff had a prejudice left over from what Syanna had done to him, and Regis told him not long ago that his contempt merely fed into her memory.

Over these short days, Dettlaff also earned some scrutiny by the villagers who were at last able to walk around and get out of the crowded house. He thought it likely they were upset that he sat off to the side uselessly, though he didn’t feel the need to explain himself and continued to wait for the other to finish his work. Occasionally he’d leave to take a walk in the surrounding wood, but for the most part he sat nearby in steady patience.

The sun had been down for a short time before Regis came out of the wooden structure and sat beside his friend, wiping his hands on the old rag again.

“Do you need to go to the stream again?” asked Dettlaff.

“No, that’s alright,” his friend replied. “I was thinking we’d leave tomorrow, they’ll be alright once we’re gone. A young woman studied medicine for a short while, but it’s enough for them to fall to her aid once we leave.”

Dettlaff nodded. The two vampires continued to lean against the wooden shack behind them and were silent. Both were calm, though Dettlaff couldn’t help but travel back to the pain that lingered within him. It was subdued, but present nonetheless.

Just over twenty years and his friend’s therapy certainly got rid of his anger and immense agony. He was finally convinced that Syanna - may she rot - was behind all of those murders as well, being the root of all of it. He was simply the hand that dealt them, and for this, he was still bitter and regretful. Killing la Croix especially tugged at him.

Though he could be relieved that the tug had grown quite subtle over the years, even if most of that was passed in his solitude. It was a feeling he hardly noticed when his surroundings were silent and for this, at least, he was grateful. Though, just as now, Regis would command upon Dettlaff risking hope for the future. This was not something he was so willing to do. Trust wasn’t exactly his strong suit, after all, and much less with humans.

“I must say, you’ve gotten much better.”

“I feel little. We agreed on that not being a good thing.”

“We did not agree. Besides, I now see why, and it is a good thing. Your pain was everything to you, made up all you felt. Now that you feel nothing, it simply means the pain is gone. It’s like...a parasite and a host. Those bonds can be strong, Dettlaff, and your relationship to that parasite was just so. But when that bond is broken, a host can feel...empty. It is, I daresay, normal. And good.”

Dettlaff had to admit that Regis was right. That _must’ve_ been what he was feeling. For so long, he truly hadn’t known anything but pain. It made perfect sense that he felt empty without it, for he didn’t know _how_ to feel anything else. The only issue now was to figure that out.

Soon, Regis continued, “Because of this, I do believe you have cause to open your eyes, and heart, a bit more. You and I both know not everyone is so terrible as the Duchess’ sister was. She was...a special sort of terrible. The kind that leaves a bitter taste on the tongue at the mention of her, don’t you think?”

Regis looked directly at him. Though Dettlaff had yet to develop patience for his elaborate speech.

“Get to the point, Regis.”

Regis clicked his tongue as if indignant.

“My point is, Dettlaff, that our exceedingly long lifespans allow us time to heal and change. I know that better than any other. That being said, they also allow us plenty of time to seek love and acceptance.”

“Yet it seems you are eager for me to _trust_ again. That does not come easy.”

“It’s not necessarily that,” the barber-surgeon shook his head. “It lies more in your statement of - ah, what was it you said to me just after I found you? Right, that you’d never trust or love again. Now, that’s a bit dramatic, isn’t it?”

“That was when you found me.”

“Which implies your heart has changed. Has it?”

Dettlaff didn’t reply. It hadn’t. Not really. Perhaps a bit, if at all.

“Still, trust is no easy thing to ask for. Especially with humans.”

“Not all humans, or mortals, are the same, Dettlaff,” Regis responded sternly. “And I understand that you do not share that belief now, but I want you to be happy. And I do think it’s better you start now rather than later. Our immortality suggests you take your time, but I don’t believe the Duchess’ sister should reign over your feelings for much longer.”

Dettlaff scowled and wanted to retaliate with something about how she didn’t reign over his feelings. But whatever was left of the grief he felt, she did indeed control. The regret was his own, but she was still the reason he felt it at all.

If anything, this disgusted Dettlaff more and, for a split second, he understood exactly what Regis was trying to say.

"And, of course, I would like to point out something that you won't be happy to hear. But... Ah, she was a liar and a manipulator, and she was good at it. You know this. Though...her love likely could have been fabricated as well."  
Dettlaff shot the other a piercing glare and Regis quickly continued, "B-but this also means you may have yet to experience love in the way you should. The relationship with her was one-sided, and any other relationships you've had were only physical. But imagine what it would be like to be _truly_ loved by another. I know you long for this."  
Dettlaff simply shook his head, the tug on his heartstrings now growing as strong as it used to be.

“I do. But she still could have loved me in the beginning.”

“ _Could have_. But wouldn’t it be nice to know for sure?”

As usual, Regis was right. Dettlaff still didn’t know how to admit it aloud. But he knew that the other was right and for the first time, he _truly_ considered his point. Trusting others, for surely not everyone was as vile as _her_ . And with it, despite the great difficulty of doing so, perhaps he could love again. _Perhaps_.


	4. Arms of Destiny

The trees of Lyrian forests shielded them from much of the sunlight like a mother shielding a babe at her breast. The dark green shadows were thick, perfect for those who wished to stay hidden. The only obstacles the vampires faced were giant logs and vines swaying from low branches. Yet here, all was peculiarly silent - it would take more than even a bruxa to get the birds chirping.

Dettlaff had begun to feel uneasy without quite knowing why, though he did his best to keep this from himself in order to keep Regis from realizing it as well. He reckoned it was because they were now in the kingdom of Lyria, all with Rivia and Spalla growing closer still. It brought back memories of the Brute which he’d slain well over two centuries before - among the hundreds of humans murdered, one was a selfless boy Dettlaff had a small attachment to. He didn’t enjoy thinking of it.

Instead, he went over their plan in his head for a second time. He needed a distraction, as he typically did, to take away from the emptiness. Yet he and Regis decided upon going to the other’s old home of Dilligen after they rested in the closest place they could find. The only reason they did not immediately leave was because Dettlaff had an odd feeling within him telling him they ought to stay. Every step in the direction Regis led felt like it was meant to be - and why this was occurring Dettlaff could not hope to know. He figured he was imagining things.

Suddenly, a twig cracked under heavy pressure. It must have been maybe half a mile off, almost directly behind them. It was the first time in a short while he had to pay closer attention to his surroundings. Yet at the same time, the unfamiliar pressure in his gut grew stronger. It was calling to him, but he heard no words.

The footsteps of a woman came closer and were louder. She was running on uncoordinated legs over a forest floor of pine needles and sticks, panting like a dog all the while. Since the smell of no small amount of blood traveled with her, he would guess she’d been wounded terribly. Though she was alone and had a light foot even for being hurt.

Suddenly, Dettlaff felt a sympathy that wasn’t there when he’d seen the villagers. He again blamed this on Regis’ feelings, seeping through the pores of his own soul.

“Shall we wait for her to come upon us?” Regis asked.

“We have no choice or else it will look as if we expected her. And she may pass.”

“Mm,” the other muttered. Though the selfless surgeon in him looked - and felt - eager to help whether or not the stranger passed right by them. Dettlaff, of his own odd accord, could not blame him this time.

Then, crashing through the underbrush with little grace behind them came the woman they’d been expecting. Except, serving as an explanation for the generally light footsteps, she was a half-elf wielding a brilliantly crafted bow in one hand and holding a bleeding wound in her side with the other. Her charming face finally looked up at them from the ground and she stumbled into a tree at the sight of the strangers. Her jade green eyes were wide yet stunning and from her head sprouted a mane of dark brown curls among which slightly pointed ears were barely visible.

Though in the next second, before Dettlaff or Regis made so much as a movement, the half-elf raised her bow, vigorously pulled the bowstring to her cheek, and aimed the sharpened arrow at them.

“Stay back!” she cried breathlessly. “Or I’ll loose an arrow at both of you quicker than you can blink!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's a LOT shorter! I think the last one was as well. But now my OC is in and I'm excited for you to see her! And the next chapter is much longer! :)


	5. Shared Tragedy

Alma aep Taldir was her name. She hailed from Gwendeith where she was a member of the Free Elves, though as a half-elf she was forever shunned by both races of which her blood held and thus never truly felt “free.” Though for one who held the blood of the Aen Seidhe, she was still quite young - merely thirty-six years of age.

She was leaving her home without a hint of regret. The elves took care of her, true, but always with a nasty look and done so hastily. And no human village would allow her to stay, more often than not setting their hounds on her. Finally, the scorn she’d earned from humanity turned her quite cold - now she wanted revenge on those who’d bound her to a fate of disdain.

Though running north on her own was not easy. Of course, Alma never had it easy, but there were monsters aplenty and she never got help from anyone. She was now wounded for the first time since her departure several weeks before - she’d encountered a pack of wolves and was unable to outrun them due to the rocky forest terrain.

Alma could hardly stand upright, let alone keep an arrow pointed at two bewildered strangers. What was worse, as Alma observed, one of the men looked as if he could send her flying with one scalding look, and the other didn’t look particularly harmless either.

“Hello,” said the second one, putting his hands up. She noticed this one must’ve been perhaps fifty or sixty years old, though he was shockingly healthy for such an age. He moved gracefully as far as she saw, and stood up as straight as any young man would.

“We don’t want--”

“Silence, _dh’oinne_ ,” Alma declared back. “You’re both going to let me pass through unharmed, understood? Or like I said, I’ll put arrows in your skulls quicker than you can blink. _Do you understand_?”

Both men remained silent. Alma saw that the one who hadn’t spoken was looking at her oddly - as if he’d never seen an elf in his life. She wondered briefly if that was the case.

“What?” she blurted.

“Nothing,” his deep voice replied, expression untroubled. “But my friend is a medic.”

“Indeed,” the other immediately added, suddenly looking eager to help, much to Alma’s surprise. “Allow me to patch up your wounds, please. You wouldn’t want to travel the rest of your solo journey like that. Nor, if you grant me permission, will you owe me anything.”

Alma took a shocked step back without meaning to. Neither of those in front of her made a single movement, but simply looked at her curiously. After all, she’d lowered her bow and gaped.

“Are you alright?” asked the older man.

“Yes. Just…”

Alma couldn’t maintain her firm resolve for the life of her. It was all too odd to be offered help at all, especially when they expected nothing in return. She’d only realized now, in fact, that they hadn’t even _looked_ at her differently. And her ears weren’t hidden.

Though, despite this, surely it was a ruse. Too good to be true. These days Alma could never be certain. Moreover, she could never be too trusting.

She raised her bow again, shaking her head, “No. Leave me be. I don’t trust you.”

The men then exchanged looks. She couldn’t decipher what either expression meant, but once they looked back at her, her head suddenly felt foggy. It was subtle, so she couldn’t pinpoint why at all, but it was enough to leave her little to no control over her own thoughts. She wanted to say something about it but her voice never prevailed.

“We’re travelers, not unlike yourself. And as a surgeon, it is my duty to help those in need. There are few greater things than helping others whenever you can, especially when you have the resources to do so. You happen to be in need and thus must allow me the delight in aiding your health.”

Alma had already stepped toward the man long before she was aware of her feet moving at all. His hand was outstretched to help her walk, or so she thought, and before she knew it, her arm was draped over his shoulders and she didn’t need to do much more work in the way of moving. Since her mind was still muddled - from blood loss, she was certain - she barely took note of how alarmingly strong he was.

“Tell me your name, if you will,” said the surgeon.

“A-Alma.”

“Well, Alma, I am pleased to meet you. I am Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy. Though to spare yourself of the mouthful, call me Regis.”

Alma could hardly acknowledge it, but tried nonetheless.

“My friend,” Regis addressed the man now walking in front of them, black trench coat looking menacing even when Alma couldn’t see his stony face. “Introduce yourself, perhaps?”

The other looked over his shoulder a bit, though he hardly spared Alma a glance more than a second long. It was quite different from the expression he had just before.

“Dettlaff,” he replied simply.

“Mm,” Alma acknowledged this as best she could, like the other. Though no more than a minute later, and without warning, the half-elf fell to a deep slumber.

 

Alma woke up surrounded by warmth and not feeling as pained and drowsy as she had earlier. She panicked at realizing the men could’ve taken advantage of her, but quickly noticed she was not tied down or in any cell. In fact, she’d been tucked underneath a blanket on a bed made of compact hay. In the small, old cabin there was a small fireplace holding crackling flames, and above the fire was a small kettle of what Alma assumed was water. Beside it and across from her was the door, slightly moving in the midday breeze. With some difficulty, Alma then managed to sit up to see the rest of the cabin hidden from view.

“ _Oh_!” she flinched suddenly, breath fleeing her lungs. The second man she’d seen - piercing blue eyes and all - was sitting on a frail chair in the corner, arms crossed over his chest as he leaned back. The eyes that had been closed in rest opened suddenly with her outburst. Though at seeing his presence merely startled her, his expression relaxed more.

“It has been a day,” he stated. “Regis tended to your wounds.”

Alma hardly knew how to respond at first. Though upon the statement made, Alma became aware of the bandages around her middle as well as the one wrapping around much of her right arm. She’d been bit in the side, though not too deeply, and a gruesome scratch ran down the back of her arm. She was thankful to be alive, however.

“Where’s he gone? And where are we?” she finally asked.

“He has gone to get more herbs and we are a few miles southwest of Rivia.”

“Rivia!” Alma immediately shook her head. “I have to turn back as soon as possible. They still hate nonhumans.”

Dettlaff didn’t reply and Alma took the blanket off, trying to rise again and regain strength in her stiffened muscles. Though she suddenly realized yet another thing as she finally came to her senses.

“Speaking of hating nonhumans,” she narrowed her eyes at the man in the corner, “why did the two of you go through all that trouble to help me?”

“It was hardly trouble,” he looked somehow pained, “though Regis has a penchant for helping people.”

“And you? What do you think?”

Dettlaff had taken yet another pause, still seemingly uncomfortable, and Alma grew increasingly suspicious. Or perhaps it was the anxiousness she’d been feeling the whole time.

“My opinion does not matter to you, nor do my tendencies,” he finally said. Then he looked away from her with peculiar rapidity. She did not have the energy to continue arguing the matter, though under normal circumstances she would have. Under normal circumstances, she also would’ve run as fast as her legs could take her, but she also didn’t have the energy for that. Though something else - something unseen - also kept her in that cabin. It countered everything her instincts told her to do.

Yet Alma was also curious about one other thing. Of course, she still wasn’t sure these men were trustworthy. Yet they’d proven their worth to some extent, or at least the surgeon did, and they had yet to attack her.

“Tell me, what would you do if I ran out of here and didn’t return?”

Dettlaff’s eyes were again taken from the window and they stared back at her.

“Would you expect us to chase after you? We have not the time nor the interest.”

“So you don’t want to hold me captive, steal sex and labor? You don’t want to round out my ears and then sell me to someone else as a slave? There’s no wish to hang me or---”

“No,” the man cut her off firmly. “Again, we have not the time nor the interest.”

Alma put her hands on her hips. Though she had little energy still, even after sleeping for a day, she now had to argue this time. This man was of few words and for some reason, it bothered her.

“That’s it? No speech about being better than others, about having good morals? Nothing that would warrant me paying you wi---”

“No,” Dettlaff said again, with the same stoic determination. “Good morals and deeds are better proven than spoken.”

With that, the half-elf was finally rendered speechless. Even though he had hardly an expression much of the time, she could feel that Dettlaff preferred the silence and kept quiet. Besides, her silence was less so her being bothered at her inability to argue further and more so at her respect for his statement. Indeed, the man of few words proved his worth just as the surgeon had. She had to admit she sort of liked him, and it was true that even upon his countenance he didn’t seem the type to bother with racial prejudice.

Alma sat back down on the mattress. She noticed on other bench in the room and saw that the wood of the ceiling was beginning to cave near the middle. There was one small window near Dettlaff, but none were needed since it was easy enough to see through the uneven slats of the structure.

Then there were light footsteps just beyond the door before it opened. In came the barber-surgeon looking pleased to see that she was awake.

“Ah, good to see you’re doing well,” he said. Then he took the kettle from above the fire and moved to the bench. He used it as a table, first pouring hot water into a small cup he’d taken from his satchel. Then he put some herb in it that Alma couldn’t see. She was glad she’d also studied some herbs at her home, for otherwise she would be afraid of not knowing if he was trying to poison her.

“Here,” said the surgeon as he handed it to her. “This should soothe some of your pain. I’m afraid nothing else grows around here and I’ve little else left with me, so that will have to do.”

Alma raised the cup to her nose to smell it first, hoping she would catch what it was. She could, though only slightly, and to help she saw some bits of petal were left on the surface of the hot water - they were red.

“Beggartick,” Alma looked suspiciously at the man. “Poisonous and hallucin---”

“In large doses. In small doses, it is used to soothe pain and can even bring pleasant dreams.”

There was a pause and Alma had to yield, and he did indeed give her little. So she drank the tea as the surgeon spoke more, sitting on the bench instead.

“It’s often necessary for a medic to be well versed in the flora of several locations, so you needn’t fret. We’ve no interest in killing you either, though it’s true you would only learn this by our demonstration of it. I hope you’ll accompany us long enough for us to prove it to you. Where is it you’re headed?”

Alma cleared her throat and wondered if she ought to tell them. Ultimately, she saw no harm in it.

“I’m going to Redania.”

Regis raised an inquiring grey eyebrow.

“The place isn’t kind to elves. Nonhumans. It---”

“ _Wasn’t_. But ever since Radovid was assassinated and Nilfgaard won the war, the place is getting friendlier. Novigrad’s a free city again.”

“Do you plan to settle?”

“I’m not sure. Though Nilfgaard seized Oxenfurt as well. Might stay there instead. Besides, I’m...looking for someone. They’re somewhere in the region.”

“Who do you seek?”

Alma took a deep breath. She’d keep it vague - giving out too much personal information could leave her at a disadvantage later. She was already risking a lot.

“My parents. They abandoned me as an infant. That’s all I’ll say.”

“Fair,” Regis replied, eyes filled with further pondering. “We won’t press you.”

Alma appreciated this. There was yet another long pause and only the crackling fire and creaking door brought sounds to their ears. Finally she spoke again, “Where are you two going?”

Regis looked at his companion before turning back to the half-elf.

“We recently decided to go to Dilligen. Brugge. It was my long-time home and I wish to visit once more. A pleasant little place. Calm.”

Alma nodded. More silence engulfed them.

Eventually the beggartick blossoms, however, got to her. Indeed, much of her aching disappeared, but the flower had the tendency to make one drowsy. She soon had to lay back down. Though in the moment she felt herself returning to sleep, she was alert again at the sound of Regis speaking. He was going out in hopes of finding more plants to harvest. Alma was left with the quiet man soon enough.

Much to her surprise, he then spoke to her after Regis had been gone a short while.

“Is it revenge you seek?” he asked.

Alma slowly sat up and looked at him, squinting as if she couldn’t already see him clearly. Though something else made its home in his expression - a look of pain and longing, of suffering and tragedy.

“Yes,” she replied. She was unsure why she’d even answered that. It was personal.

His response, on the other hand, soothed her. He’d nodded and tore his eyes away yet again, solemnly looking out the window.

“I understand.”


	6. Tied

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! Sorry it's been a while since you've had any real updates from me (stressful and busy life). In case you didn't get the memo, I did rewrite the first two chapters to better fit things. But the rest pretty much remains the same, some details will just be off. Enjoy!

A few rather long days had gone by. Regis had observed a number of changes that had taken place over this time. For instance, the half-elf they’d come upon was healing excellently. Dettlaff, too, was healing, though in a different manner. Where Regis typically felt little emotion coming from his end, there was now something peculiar there, like a spark reluctant to emerge from its shadows.

Regis was bent on discovering what exactly this meant, and already had a working idea. Dettlaff and Alma were both somehow drawn to each other. After learning some of her story, sensing her own tragedy, Regis figured this was what instantly bound them. Few would understand Dettlaff’s loneliness and longing, though a half-elf scorned by the rest of humanity was certainly one of them.

On some occasions, however, Regis would do some investigating of his own. In situations such as this, he charmed his way through extracting information quite well, or so he thought. He found out little over this time, for Dettlaff and Alma were similar in this regard as well - they were secretive, wary of others, distrustful. But it wasn’t as if Regis had been spared any practice with a certain vampire.

He used Alma’s wounds to his advantage, informing her every once in a while that regular walks outside the cabin would do her stiff muscles well. On about half of the times she heeded him, he took the liberty of joining her (and Dettlaff enjoyed the following solitude).

“How are you feeling?” Regis asked the archer the fifth morning of their stay, when they were several feet from the small cabin.

“Better,” she replied. “When do you two plan on leaving?”

“Well, since the three of us are accompanying each other, it is whenever you’re well enough. I’d give it a few more days.”

“I’m sure I’d be alright. We  _ can  _ take breaks if necessary.”

“Eager to leave?”

Alma simply shrugged, but Regis could sense she was indeed eager. Out of pure curiosity, he attempted, again, to learn more of her journey and motives. It was in his morals to want to help others, and he had a natural desire to learn what he could of the world around him and its people, to provide advice through wisdom he’d accumulated over his vast experiences. His current circumstance provided the best excuse to do so. He would openly admit to himself that he quite liked the prospect of Dettlaff and Alma’s pairing - she could very well help Dettlaff just as Regis was.

“Remind me - why is it you wish to go to Redania? If you don’t mind divulging that information,” Regis stated. She avoided his gaze, but spoke nonetheless.

“My parents are there. I need to... _ speak  _ to them.”

“I have a distinct feeling the term ‘speak’ is used quite loosely here.”

Alma finally looked at him, “It is.”

Regis couldn’t decipher what was in her expression, but he could tell some anger was there. The similarities between her and his blood brother multiplied by the day. It made him happy to think true companionship was now possible, just a year after Dettlaff returned from such harsh solitude. Regis had already made great strides in Dettlaff’s torn character, his feelings, on his own, and he hoped Alma could help with the rest.

“So...I hope you now believe us when we said we wished only to help you.”

Alma looked over again, but this time, she had a small smile.

“I suppose so. Most people don’t seem so...open-minded,” she replied in appreciation.

“I understand,” said the barber-surgeon. “Humans, I’ve observed, are the most hypocritical. They are keen on pointing fingers at so-called monsters and slaughtering anyone who doesn’t look like them. A wearisome undertaking if you ask me.”

Alma raised an eyebrow back, green eyes fervent, “ _ You’re _ a human.”

Regis hardly spared her his own glance, hoping she would not inquire after him more: “Perhaps so.”

Alas, Alma said nothing to this and they walked on in silence. The forests near Rivia were darker in some places over others, but they approached a sunny clearing Regis had gathered a few remedial flowers just the other day. It had a few large, tan boulders sprouting with moss spread over them in blankets, and a small, still pond sat in the corner. The large parting in the trees let the bright sunlight flow in and opened their views to colorful blooms sprouting through the grass.

Alma moved just ahead of the vampire and took a seat on one of the rocks. Regis planted himself on one just a few feet in front of her. Alma seemed to be enjoying the sun’s warmth at the moment, placing a tender hand on the bandages at her side.

“I do hope you’re enjoying our company as well,” he finally stated. She turned to him another time before nodding gratefully.

“Of course. It’s not often I get respectful company. In fact, it would’ve been more than enough for you to patch me up and send me back on my way. But...you’ve allowed me to stay. I’m not sure I ever thanked you.”

Regis gave her a smile, though only the hidden one of old habit, with pursed lips and hidden teeth.

“No need. We are sympathetic toward your troubles.”

Alma nodded again. There was a small pause before, this time, she asked him something. It was in the direction Regis was indeed hoping for.

“So your friend - Dettlaff. What’s his story? He speaks little and there’s  _ something  _ about him,” she inquired. Regis looked at her a while, pondering about what he could reveal without violating Dettlaff’s closely guarded privacy.

“He has been through much indeed,” answered Regis. “Heartbreak being one. He regrets the deeds he committed while he was under his former lover’s reign. Though he is recovering, slowly. I aim to help him in this endeavor.”

“Are you helping him for the same reason you help me?”

“Not quite. We are old friends and he once...saved my life, as you could put it.”

Alma nodded and again went no further in her questioning, which Regis was thankful for himself. Alas, he neared dangerous territory. While the half-elf understood the pain in being something other than “normal,” she hadn’t gone so far as to be a  _ monster  _ in human eyes, at least in the way vampires had. Regis wondered if she would stay if she found out who he and Dettlaff really were. Until he had some foundation in her not running away, he would do his best to not reveal it. This was usually as it went - however, beings not yelling about blood-drinking freaks came so seldom.

“I can see that something troubles him,” the archer suddenly said. Regis listened carefully, feeling that something agreeable approached.

“Can you?”

“Mm,” Alma nodded. “There’s something quite sad about him. He may talk little, but when he does, I feel I...relate. Is that at all odd?”

“Not at all. Some people naturally get along well with certain characters, typically over things found in common - similar tragedies especially. From what I’ve heard of you and what I know of him, you two are quite alike indeed.”

Alma’s eyebrows quickly came together in thought, or perhaps it was confusion or surprise.

“How so?”

Regis did little to contain his grin.

“Well, thus far, you both understand what it is like to be an outcast, especially of your own kin. To be in the disdain of others. You were both abandoned and scorned by those you long thought dear, both feel betrayed in some manner. You both seem to prefer being and fighting alone as well, with equal fire and determination. And while Dettlaff has enacted his revenge already, whatever revenge you seek he certainly recognizes.”

Alma was silent, sitting in thought for a long while, taking it all in.

“He’s enacted his revenge?”

“It is more appropriate you ask  _ him  _ of that, when he is better.”

“And... _ he  _ understands being an outcast? How so?”

“You’ll have to ask him that as well. Sometime.”

There was another pause. Birds started chirping again, filling the silence Regis and Alma had left.

“He’s so...intimidating, though. You know?” Alma suddenly blurted. Regis couldn’t help but chuckle, as he knew who Dettlaff really was beyond his exterior. Alma almost looked shocked that he had.

“Yes,” Regis nodded in amusement. “Yes, he does have a menacing countenance. But as hard as it is to believe, he is incredibly sensitive.”

Alma nodded, pondering deeply, “Just secretive. Closed off.”

“Precisely. An austere man who refrains from showing much emotion. He finds it a vulnerability.”

“It is.”

“You believe so?”

“Yes. He is...like me.”

“If that is as you see it, then. But I agree -  _ like you _ .”

At this, Regis continued to grin as he could not help himself from it. He understood well that few could relate to Dettlaff at all, which alone was a contribution to his isolation from others. Though, if he already didn’t know, Regis made a note to let him know just what this half-elf could offer him. Or, at the least, that it was a  _ very  _ good thing she came upon them in the forest.

“Shall we head back?” Regis asked her, rising from his seat on the boulder. Alma shook her head and motioned for him to go back alone.

“I’ll stay here a little while.”

Regis nodded before he carried himself back to his dear friend - with good news.

 

After another night of rest for all of them, Alma insisted she was better and they ought to leave, eager as ever to arrive north. When Regis wished her to rest a bit more, she attempted to prove to him that she was alright by hunting a boar she’d seen near the clearing. He had to stop her, naturally. Though it was refreshing to even see her in good spirits in addition to livelier steps.

“You needn’t hurt yourself proving you’re alright,” Regis chuckled, standing outside the cabin with both of his companions. “That would be counterintuitive, would it not? We can leave now, I just ask that you take it easy.”

“I never take it easy, surgeon,” Alma smirked. Then she snatched the map from where it leaned just out of his satchel before he could retrieve it and began to walk off.

“Are we leaving or not?” she asked when they didn’t follow. In this pause, Regis looked at his friend and tried to decipher what he was feeling. His expression showed clear interest.

“You think she is like me?” Dettlaff asked, staring after her.

“Like you, along with all the fiery qualities that you seem to enjoy in your mates. Do you not agree?” Regis raised an eyebrow.

Then, instead of replying, Dettlaff followed the archer. Though Regis knew well his reluctance to say “no” meant he agreed - he simply had a hard time admitting when he was wrong, especially with a barber-surgeon who was most often right.

Regis then followed both of them through the forest, glad to see Dettlaff was indeed getting better solely because of their new companion. As wary as the other vampire might’ve been - and Regis as well to some extent - it was impossible for either of them to deny that something drew Dettlaff and Alma together. That this case, against so many of the others, was  _ so much different _ .


	7. Hard Rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ya girl is SO sorry for taking a million years to upload this! This is something of a filler chapter before I can get to more exciting stuff, and those chapters are always hardest to write for me. And, of course, I had more pressing things to do and write. I hope you enjoy and you remember what's happened, to spare you of having to reread it! And thank you for getting this to almost 1,000 hits! That's so cool! x

It was over the next couple of days that the small adventure of theirs remained on the banks of the Yaruga, the exceptions being when they grew too close to small villages in need of the water. As much as Regis disliked exploitation, he could not help but find the convenience within the humans’ distaste for half-elves aligning perfectly with Dettlaff’s habitual stray from society. Where Dettlaff went, Alma was happy to go as well.

This went for smaller things as well, and for both of them. If Alma walked alongside the river so that her boots caught wet sand and water, Dettlaff would soon come beside her and begin a conversation. If Dettlaff suggested they take a break beside the trees - likely for her - Alma would often be resting at the edge of the forest before he arrived there. And Regis found more than enough entertainment observing them.

He rarely spoke to them about it, particularly when they were both within earshot. Though he could not help hinting at it when speaking to them individually. To this they had the reactions he expected. Dettlaff was a straightforward person, one who had nothing to hide from Regis and would simply state he was, indeed, rather fascinated by the half-elf. Alma, on the other hand, fiercely inquired after his interest and usually remained quiet. But she was much easier to read aside from it all, and after the one time she was open with Regis in that sunny clearing, Regis knew all he needed to. She found a solace and understanding in Dettlaff she had found in no other.

It was a marvelous thing, fate. And at last, Regis was certain it was handing Dettlaff and Alma a good hand.

 

They stopped for the night in the middle of a patch of tight-knit trees, some distance from the river since the tide had risen and it started to rain. Alma took her rest under the stooping branch of a tall, thick oak. Dettlaff sat closer to her than usual.

“Do you wonder if there are certain...creatures around?” Alma asked softly once tucked under a blanket.

“What creatures do you have in mind?” Regis raised his eyebrows. Alma sat up on an elbow and looked around.

“Well, monsters.”

Dettlaff visibly grew tense, “And what would you say is a monster?”

“Well, the ones that kill for sport, and brutally. They don’t think like us. What else? I’m just wondering...what if there are werewolves or leshys about? We’re done for, you know.”

There was a silence. Dettlaff relaxed slightly and looked around, feigning human fear just enough to dispel any of her own doubt or suspicion.

“I doubt it. We should hope not.”

“I must wonder, though, why you’ve only worried about such things now. Unless you’ve heard something about the forests of Sodden?”

Alma shook her head, squinting to see further into the forest. It had grown rather dark, however, and any hope of a warning would come from the vampires’ excellent hearing. But that she couldn’t know.

“No. I don’t know why I haven’t. I just think the forest is more...frightening now. Wouldn’t a monster take advantage of a storm? The rain’s gotten harder and you can’t see the stars,” she shifted uncomfortably. Indeed, it was hard to miss how much harder the rain fell on the leaves above them, colliding with them so hard that some fell off. The oaks, however, were so thick that it didn’t disturb them too terribly and it wasn’t difficult to stay dry.

“We’ll know if something is coming, trust me. You should rest,” Dettlaff told the half-elf. Alma gave him an uncertain look, but didn’t say anything for a short while. When she did, she stated that she couldn’t sleep as long as the storm went on.

“Nor can I,” Regis looked up at the chattering leaves. “I have rather sensitive hearing.”

All three of them were silent, though, and didn’t close their eyes for a moment. Alma heaved a sigh through the howling wind, so quietly that a normal human would not have heard it.

After about an hour, the wind and rain died down so they could speak to each other with ease. It was Alma to begin the conversation first.

“So I’ve told you two more about me than you have yourselves,” she raised herself on an elbow again, hair lightly grazing the branch leaning above her. “I think it’s time I know you two more. Especially if we’ve been traveling together.”

“Naturally,” Regis nodded. “What is it you’d like to know?”

Dettlaff gave the surgeon a look that indicated he wasn’t eager to be a part of such a conversation but kept that look from Alma, of course. And Regis admitted himself there were certain things he would refrain from telling her, largely concerning the tales of old from before his first death.

“I don’t know. Anything. I’ve already told you about where I’m headed and a part of why, which I’m sure helps you gather the rest.”

“I recall we told you the same. We are headed to Brugge to visit my old home.”

“Hmph. I suppose,” she exhaled roughly. “But it doesn’t tell me much else. I have to admit you two are mysterious characters.”

Regis grinned, “Perhaps we are. But seeing as - forgive the bluntness - you don’t particularly have the best people skills, every character may as well be mysterious to you.”

Alma stared at him a second before hesitantly nodding, looking partially defeated.

“No worries, though,” he said immediately upon noticing her expression, “there is plenty to discuss about all of us. One thing that has piqued my interest for a while is your existence in itself. There are so few elves left after the wars waged over the past century. Do you have a pure-blooded parent?”

At first, Alma seemed reluctant to discuss herself, as she’d had it in mind that she wouldn’t be doing so. But she sighed, “Yes. My father. It’s not as if the elves had gone  _ extinct _ .”

“Though it seems they might as well have, from what I understand.”

“Sure, but there were a few young, pure-blooded elves. And him being one of them would further explain why they hate him so much. He just ran off with some human and sired a half-breed.”

“And his name? I might have heard it.”

Alma scoffed, “I doubt you have, surgeon. Though...Enlach was his first name. But ‘aep Taldir’ was made up. I don’t know if it was by him, trying to cover his tracks, or from the elves, to hide the shame. Either way, I got it.  _ And  _ I got the brunt of the scorn they can’t take out on him.”

There was a silence. Dettlaff suddenly looked as if he had something to say, but didn’t. He was wont to do so. And Alma didn’t seem to mind, or notice. Regis broke the silence, “I recall hearing that pure-blooded elves rarely find humans attractive, particularly human women. Much less fall in love with them.”

“Who knows if he was in love with my mother?” the half-elf scoffed again. “Or found her attractive? He just knocked her up somehow.”

“Yet you believe they’re together?”

“ _ Hoping  _ they are. Or that he knows where she is. Really, I’d only heard of father being in Redania.”

“And how’d you hear?” Dettlaff finally spoke. Alma shrugged, taking a deep breath.

“It’s a bit of a long story, really...but I’d found out he hadn’t dropped me with the elves on his own. Apparently he hired some mercenary to do it for him to spare him the trouble - probably the scaffold. And you know I wasn’t even two weeks old? Anyway… I hunted the man down and he happened to know where my father was headed at the time.”

Regis pondered the explanation for a second. Something seemed crueler about her story now that he knew a mercenary had been involved. That, or something with the whole tale just wasn’t right. But he doubted Alma knew that. She was still young and rather inexperienced when it came to people. She didn’t trust easily, but the right things could break that wariness quickly. Regis grew more relieved at knowing she’d come across them and not some of the large number of undesirables waiting to slaughter anyone with elven blood. Even the innocent ones like Alma aep Taldir.

“And, forgive the question please, you’re how old?” he asked, taking himself from the reverie.

“Almost forty,” she snorted. “Do I not look wonderful for it?”

Regis gave a small smile in acknowledgement of the joke, but said seriously, “But that being said, Alma, would your father not have moved in forty years if he was in trouble?”

“Not if the elves can hardly afford to leave the mountains. And if Redania is comfy enough for him, he can’t have.”

“And your mother? She must be an old woman by now herself. Would your father really remain with her if he did not love her?”

“That’s why I’m hoping he did,” Alma shook her head, as if in denial that her plan may be unfolded as such. “Then she’ll be around, surely. And if she’s dead…”

Alma took a long pause. She looked away from both Regis and Dettlaff, past the damp branch of the oak tree, in the direction of the cold river. He heard her sniff. And he barely heard such a thing.

“Then I’m not sure it makes much a difference to me.”

 

When they returned to the river to walk beside it later the next morning, it was still raining and the sky was as grey as ever. Regis found a branch the wind tore from a tree almost as tall as himself, which he began to use as a walking stick. It reminded him of a time long gone, when he’d first met Geralt of Rivia. The witcher slipped into his mind every once in a while, making him wonder how things were. The last time he saw him was when they drank his mandrake brew under Toussaint’s stars, shortly after Dettlaff left in despair and Geralt was imprisoned. But surely his old friend was doing as well as ever, with his sorceress and his Cirilla, now a talented witcheress herself. 

The moment his blood brother healed and their current journey came to an end, Regis vowed he would return to the duchy alone and see the witcher. It had been too long as it was. Until then, he had the stubborn task of pairing Dettlaff with a promising half-elf to tackle.

Regis, however, wasn’t exactly known for surrender.


	8. Va Faill

Dettlaff, for the most part, was an observer. He engaged when he felt the need to, but he always enjoyed listening and watching intently. When he was infatuated with a creature such as Alma, he paid close attention to details in a way that no one else would catch him. Not even Regis.

He watched the way she stretched and examined her arrow fletchings right after she woke up. The grace with which she moved and danced over twigs and logs, her lightness of foot returning now that she was healing exceptionally. He noticed her alertness and skepticism, the precision she exercised better than any human whenever she took a shot. 

Dettlaff also found he adored her appearance in more ways than one. Half-elves typically had the beauty of a pure-blooded elf, and Alma was certainly one of them. He caught himself admiring her shapely body and the bright fire in her eyes, and the delicate features of a rather lovely face. And her wild hair matched the feisty personality she carried with her at all times.

Yet beyond that fierceness, he’d seen glimpses of who she was underneath the hard shell. And seeing as he had such limited experience with people, particularly mortals, one could call it intuition - that of a man who was rather taken in a way he didn’t expect to be. Further within her, in a place he reckoned no one had gone, was a softness and a desperation for love not unlike his own.

Everything about Alma aep Taldir aroused feelings in Dettlaff no one had ever given him. Not even Syanna. Her fire he wished not to tame, but to excite in a way she’d done for him. He wanted to hear his name swaying on the sound of her silky voice, and to be entangled in her scent of subtle vanilla and flowers. He wished to protect and love her even though he did not know how. Yet when he was by her side, he felt like he knew how and more.

And then she had to leave.

Time was his enemy, simply because he never understood it or how it worked. He whiled away his days thinking, even dreaming about the ways he could be happy - the ways Regis reminded him of frequently. It didn’t matter if he believed in them.

Yet it was easier to believe in them as of late because one of those ways seemed to be well within reach. It traveled alongside them in the form of one who caught a glimpse of his own pain. But Dettlaff was so caught in quietly observing it, as if testing the waters, that he forgot about time and its hatred for him.

They were just past the River Ina, not far from Regis’ old summer abode, when Alma told them she had to go north from there. Regis expected the answer, for she’d mentioned it before. But of all the things Dettlaff had been paying attention to, that wasn’t one of them. In fact, he wasn’t certain they were already there. But alas, they were, and Regis was giving Alma provisions and the map.

Dettlaff had been too afraid of rejection and deceit to speak to her. That was the primary reason he kept the potential happiness to his thoughts, because when he wished to talk to the archer about his feelings, memories of his former lover flooded him. It was very possible she’d look at him with disgust - perhaps already knowing he was a monster - and leave immediately. Or, like Syanna, she would be using him for something else, never once feeling a thing for him.

But now she was sharing her parting words with the barber-surgeon and Dettlaff watched from several feet off, clenching his fists as he debated what to do.

Alma stowed the map away in a satchel she’d traded with a traveling merchant, in exchange for most of the deer she cut down. Then she looked at Regis and, though hesitantly at first, hugged him. Even Regis looked mildly surprised. Then Dettlaff heard her profusely thank him.

Dettlaff wasn’t sure why he did it, as it countered everything his instincts told him to do, but when Alma stepped away from Regis he asked her if they could speak alone. Regis immediately understood, giving them a small smile that only the other vampire caught, and left of his own accord. And rather quickly.

“Are you alright?”

Dettlaff looked into the lively jade of her eyes and nodded. She squinted at him, as he took a moment to speak.

“I’ve enjoyed your company immensely,” he finally told her. “It’s a shame to see you leave.”

Alma inclined her head, suddenly avoiding his gaze and staring at the swaying trees surrounding them. In the direction she had to go.

“It is,” she agreed tersely, “but I have to. You said you understood.”

Dettlaff nodded again, and she looked back at him, still narrowing her eyes. Dettlaff became even more aware of how close she was.

“Can I ask why? Regis told me…” Alma took a deep breath, her feet shifting slightly. “He said it was a sensitive subject, so you don’t have to tell. But I couldn’t leave without asking about what happened to you.”

This was yet another thing the vampire wasn’t expecting. But, alas, he knew her story well. She’d told it on a couple of occasions, the most recent when he asked her more alone. And she knew almost nothing about him other than the fact that he was from Nazair.

Immediately he warned her, “I cannot provide detail…”

“Of course.”

He took a pause, contemplating how he wanted to word his suffering. He hadn’t said anything about it since it happened, he was slowly realizing. With Regis it was simple and vague if he had to mention anything because Regis was present in Toussaint. Alma was not. And Alma didn’t know what he was. She likely hadn’t even heard of the  _ Beast of Beauclair _ , but if she had...she could not know it was him.

“My mate...deceived me. Our love was but a ruse, and my devotion was manipulated for her own plans… She forced me to become someone else. Some _ thing  _ else. And lied about it.”

Alma was silent for a second and Dettlaff watched her ponder it.

“I’m sorry,” she finally said, to which he furrowed his eyebrows. “That’s...cruel.”

“I apologize... I can’t tell you more.”

Alma scoffed but looked at him kindly, “Don’t be. I’m not going to force you to relive your pain.”

There was a long silence between them, but it was not at all uncomfortable. Dettlaff felt the longing for her grow because at any moment, she was going to turn around and head to Redania.

“So…”

“We may see one another again.”

Alma nodded, gradually closing her mouth. However, she still looked as if she wished to say something. Or perhaps it was her desire to embrace him as she did Regis, but something was holding her back. Dettlaff was afraid to know what that was.

“Goodbye, Alma,” Dettlaff said at last.

Alma again shifted on the spot, but then she took a deep breath and adjusted the quiver on her back, then made sure the straps on her satchel were tight enough. She stepped away, still gazing at him with eyes of green fire.

“ _ Va faill _ .”

Dettlaff watched her go. He stared into the northern wind and the trees long after she was out of sight. He only withdrew when he could no longer hear her footsteps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> side note: I believe farewell is spelled "va faill" in the books but is "va fail" in the games so......we're winging it. If you find out what the original canonical spelling is, please update me? Thanks for reading!! x


	9. Holding to a Promise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! This chapter is really short but things are about to get exciting so...bear with me. (and there's some subtle foreshadowing in this chapter!)

Fen Carn, the place of Regis’ old summer residence, was not far. And Regis had wondered for days if it stood as it used to, as he had not been back there for decades now. He wondered where he would go if it was not and whether Dettlaff, ever so silent and somber since Alma’s departure, would accompany him. Regis hoped he would, since he had to remain true to his promise of helping him recover love and happiness.

Along with this, Regis knew they would end up leaving Fen Carn within days whether or not it was in disrepair. Dettlaff appeared to forget that Regis could feel as he was to some degree - and what Dettlaff was feeling was strong enough for Regis to get a glimpse. It was that of deep longing.

And, of course, it wasn’t unusual for the other vampire to feel so strongly so quickly. The only unusual thing was Regis’ silence on the matter, as, for once, he decided he would not initiate the conversation. Somehow he knew Dettlaff would speak first. Especially considering he was going to go after the half-elf at any second.

However, this took longer than he expected. The tiny cabin once belonging to the Regis wasn’t as ruined as he thought it would be, so he remained. To pass the time, he harvested mandrake root and other herbs just as he used to. Meanwhile, for a few days in a row, Dettlaff paced around the nearby forests in what would appear to anyone but the barber-surgeon to be anxiety. But Regis knew with more certainty as time passed that it was anger and woe.

Regis was about to go back on his prior declaration to not initiate conversation when Dettlaff entered the cabin late at night. It was the first time he’d set foot inside.

“We should speak,” he declared. Regis silently nodded and motioned to the bench along the other wall. But Dettlaff didn’t move, nor did he speak for some time.

“What is it, my friend?” Regis prompted him to say something. And finally, something came out.

“I must leave.”

Regis almost chuckled at the foolishness - Dettlaff really thought he’d get away with leaving alone.

“To go after Alma, yes?” said the barber-surgeon with a smile. “All you had to do was tell me to retrieve my things.”

Dettlaff, in a way only Regis would have noticed, looked shocked. But he quickly regained his composure and cautiously asked, “You would be willing?”

“Of course. The whole reason I looked for you for so long was so I could help you find happiness or, dare I say, love.”

Dettlaff opened his mouth to suddenly protest, but Regis knew well what he was going to say in an attempt of defense.

“I never--”

“You never needed to say it. It’s much more obvious than you think,” Regis rose to his feet and rolled his aching shoulders. “You’ve never been good at secrecy, Dettlaff - not with me, at the least. And particularly not as of late.”

“And...you think following her is a good idea?” Dettlaff asked, looking at the dusty floor in great thought. Regis stepped forward and placed a gentle hand on his blood brother’s shoulder.

“Of course. I have a feeling she’d enjoy the companionship, as you and I know well she won’t easily find it elsewhere.”

“And she could be in trouble,” Dettlaff muttered in return. Regis nodded in agreement, then turned around to grab his satchel and put inside a journal and some bottled herbs that could be useful. Then he promptly extinguished the candles so that they were emerged in darkness - but it made no difference to the two of them.

“You wish to leave now?” Dettlaff asked, shifting with fret. Regis looked back at him.

“We must if we want to catch up,” he smiled. “And I want to help you. Just as I promised months ago.”


	10. Sor'ca

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies in advance, in the case someone were to notice, if the Elder Speech is off! I don't know how grammar in the language works. Also, I made a word for "welcome" myself since an Elder Speech translation doesn't currently exist/I couldn't find it on the wiki. I basically altered Italian, which is how Sapkowski came up with a lot of the words in the first place. Thanks! I hope you enjoy (this is now my favorite chapter so far)!

Alma aep Taldir was now not far from the city of Maribor. She knew she was to encounter humans who scorned her, but she also knew she’d encounter this in most other places. The only place she hadn’t been scowled at or in danger was with her former companions. But they were gone. And despite what Dettlaff had said, she probably wouldn’t be seeing them again.

The world was too perilous for Alma. And as much as she could deny such a thing, she was growing weak and tired. Soon, she could no longer walk, as she hadn’t rested in almost a whole day now. And she hadn’t eaten more than a handful of berries in almost two days. She almost stuck an arrow through some squirrels, but her weakness was compromising her ability to hunt. Not to mention autumn was quickly approaching - soon, there would be  _ no  _ animals to hunt.

And something within her was very empty. A part of her felt missing. She blamed it on her recent lack of nutrition. She also blamed it on the fact that something always felt off, since she was ever so alone.

But Alma just left something behind that didn’t make her feel so empty and was the first thing to have done so. She knew well what that was. She would not admit it.

Besides, the archer had to keep going. She had a father to find and have an unfriendly chat with, at the least. And she had to enter Maribor despite the distaste for nonhumans - she had a small bit of coin Regis kindly left her, and she couldn’t go any longer without food and rest.

Finally, Alma entered the city through a southwest bridge. Her legs shook from both weakness and a slight fear as her boots clicked on the stones. The large buildings were so intimidating to her that she realized this was the first time she’d been in a city herself. Stories could only supply her with so much. Being in such a story was a much different situation.

As people began to walk by her, Alma kept nervously flattening her hair over her ears. But she knew she’d be betrayed anyway. The way she walked was different. Her other features were different. She wore elven clothing and carried an authentic elven bow. And she had no cloak to hide under.

She marched past the gates, not looking any of the guards in the eye but feeling them watching her. A woman holding her babe moved away as Alma walked by, and a merchant put a wool blanket over the goods in his wagon. Alma picked up her pace and made sure to keep her eyes on the stone at her feet.

She did her best to navigate through the city quickly, but everything was so overwhelming. The people surrounding her, never ceasing their movement, and endless chatter coming from every direction. She heard bells up on the towers and in an alley were some men holding a fist fight tournament. The blacksmith she passed was hard at work and sweating like a pig, and the tavern just beside his shop made her mouth water and her stomach growl. And she held her bow and satchel tighter, refusing to see the face of anyone and even doing her damndest not to graze a single cloak or dress.

Finally, she made it to the main square of Maribor. This was usually were wares were cheapest, or that’s as she heard from some elves back home. Yet as she entered the crowd, she realized it was impossible not to bump against everyone. Many cursed at her and she even had to dodge the elbow of one nobleman. She held her satchel to her chest as she moved.

Then she walked past one man selling fresh bread and fruits. She swallowed heavily and he caught her eye. She saw, before looking away, his wariness of the half-elf yet his eagerness to make money. She approached hesitantly.

“You got coin?” he grumbled. Alma, heart pounding, took what little she had out of her satchel. The man sniffed, thick mustache twitching, as he eyed the coin.

“That’ll get you half a loaf.”

Alma nodded. Her voice was caught in her throat. She knew it was unfair, too, but she was so desperate for anything she would take it. She’d simply have to use this sustenance to go hunt and skin beavers, then sell them and come back. Such was her life. But now, she would quickly give twelve crowns for half a loaf.

The man snatched the coin and handed her the food. Immediately after taking it, she ducked out of the way of everyone and devoured it in less than a minute, hiding behind the large pillar of a building. Then she downed the last bit of water she had in the canteen and sighed loudly, looking around now that her stomach was somewhat calm at last.

As she wiped water and crumbs from her mouth, she then caught someone staring at her. He was the only one who’d taken notice to her, leaning against the wall at the corner of a nearby book shop. His eyes were cold. His hand rested on the hilt of sword. He smirked at her.

Alma quickly rose, hand on her bow so she could retrieve it quickly. She looked down the next street and saw a large number of people - likely enough to get lost in. She looked back at the man to see him still staring at her. Yet he was no longer leaning, knowing well she was about to run. But she knew this man was no stranger to cruelty against her kind.

Alma ran. She swerved in between people expertly, and heard the man suddenly follow her. She was quick and people were so occupied that no one took notice to her. She looked back briefly to see the man was still on her trail. She picked up the pace and turned the corner. She saw a pile of crates and with the expert agility of the elves, went right over them. Then she kicked one back in hopes of it slamming into him. Yet when she landed on the ground behind the pile, she saw another man waiting for her. He resembled the first one and was smiling just the same.

“Sunny day, isn’t it, love?” he bared his yellow teeth. “A day too nice to be wandering around the city all alone.”

She heard the boxes behind her creak with the weight of the other man. The presence of both made her spine tingle.

“Leave me alone,” Alma took out her bow. Then she heard the first man lunge for her as she did, barely leaping away in time. As he fell to the ground, the other came at her. And he was too close for her to grab an arrow and shoot. Alma instead hoped luck was on her side as she jumped over the other and slipped through the space against the other wall. She felt his fingers graze her shoulder.

“Come here!” he growled. But Alma was already several feet away, running back out into the streets. Two horses came by when she did, forcing her to fall to the ground and roll over. Now people were staring.

But Alma couldn’t care in the slightest. She took the opportunity of the horses’ passing to go down the next alley. One of the men shouted something as she ran at full speed.

She realized she should have paid attention to the shout. Something smacked into the side of her mouth and the impact brought her to her stomach. The air left her body and the taste of blood filled her mouth. She could no longer feel her bow in her hands.

Alma turned on her back to see an especially large man hovering over her. He had a beard and a tattoo of a lizard on the side of his shaved head. He was considerably older than the other two.

“Seems my boys caught somethin’ today. And a filthy half breed at that,” he grinned disgustingly. Most of his teeth were rotten, but one of the front two looked to be pure gold.

“If I’m so filthy, why do you want me so bad?”

She heard the other two approach quickly. The smile of the man above her expanded and she saw him hold up a large knife.

“To skin you, of course.”

“But not before we fuck you r--”

Alma suddenly kicked the man above her in his most sensitive area and he stumbled back with a groan. Then she rose to her feet and looked around for her bow. She could not find it, but then turned and saw one of the younger men holding it.

“ _ No _ !”

“Want this, sweetheart?  _ Come and get it _ ,” said the man, and with his free hand he gestured to his genitals. The other - Alma assumed it was his brother - roared with laughter.

Yet the old man was rising once more.

“You’ll pay for that dearly,” he said. Then he whistled and Alma heard noise behind her. She turned and her only way out was now blocked by two more burly men. She felt tears well in her eyes.

“N-no…”

Some of the men laughed. And all five were advancing.

Suddenly, the brother not holding her bow fell. He’d been hit square in the forehead with a rock. Alma looked up from where the rock came from and saw someone leaning out of a third floor window with what looked like a slingshot. It was an elf.

“ _ Filara, veloë _ !” he yelled. Then in the window directly above her, on the same floor, was a she-elf lowering a rope to Alma.

“ _ Gar’ean, sor’ca _ !”

Alma grabbed it as the male elf continued pelting rocks. Though Alma got to the window as fast as she could without being grabbed by the men, an ache in her heart was pulling her back to her bow. It was  _ all she had _ .

Alma then fell to the dusty floor with little grace, trying not to weep right there. She felt soft hands pulling her to her feet.

“ _ Sor’ca _ ,” repeated the breathless she-elf named Filara. “ _ Ninnau creasa raenn _ !  _ Veloë _ !”

_ We must run. Quickly _ .

Alma nodded frantically, and both Filara and the he-elf accompanied her as she ran downstairs. Then Filara, still holding tight to Alma’s arm, went out the front door. Alma panicked at the thought of them being so vulnerable, but she was rapidly pulled through the crowd and no one was following them for the time being.

“ _ Caen te dice Common _ ?” asked the he-elf behind her. Alma nodded again, but tried to find her voice instead.

“ _ Yeá _ ,” she replied. “I prefer Common.”

“As do I. Filara does not, but she’ll speak it if you wish. I’m Chindral.”

“Alma.  _ Ceádmil _ . And...thank you.”

“Our kind must stick together. And we know of those men. They do horrid things to elves and even worse things to half-elves.”

Alma’s heart almost jumped out of her chest at his mention. She figured that was how those men operated, but him saying it somehow made it even more real.

Filara, still quiet, then took her through several more streets. Alma’s mind was still spinning so much, especially from the loss of her bow, that she couldn’t keep track of the places nor how long it took them to walk to the destination. But eventually she was taken down a small staircase in a very obscure alleyway and past a door was a cozy and hidden little home. In that room were two more elves, one male and one female, and another half-elf, a boy who must’ve been even younger than her.

Filara looked at Alma with alarmingly kind eyes.

“ _ Baenven _ ,” she said.  _ Welcome _ . “We are here to help you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again! Predictions for what's to come? ;)


	11. Family

Alma began to find a home with her new elven companions, despite being wary of the city and the rest of its inhabitants. What was more, Maribor had come to really hate elves due to a massacre caused by an old Scoia’tael unit years before, shortly after most of the Squirrels were killed off entirely. They were, naturally, painted as the enemy, but one of them - Andrea - had been there to witness it. The same old man that attacked Alma, when he was younger, were trying to put the unit on pyres and they simply fought back.

Despite her caution of the city, though, she came to trust the five she was with now - those who’d saved her and provided her with shelter and food. She was grateful and did her best to make it known. It was how she was with Regis and Dettlaff, for such kindness she was not accustomed to among either race.

As for that family, they each had very different characters. Filara was a former member of the Scoia’tael, all until they began killing any human they saw. Yet many were her friends, comrades, so she wore face paint in their memory. She was almost ninety years old and much taller than Alma, always sporting braids in her long black hair. And Alma noticed she was feisty in a similar way to her, but was so effortlessly mature about it. And Filara knew the cold sting of scorn, but she often told Alma to not let her bitterness become her: “ _ Turn it into a tool or into trash, sor’ca. _ ”

Chindral was the second oldest among them, a few years over one hundred, and was the tallest of them all. He had dark eyes, short brown hair, noble facial features, and an ever so helpful attitude. It brought a different kind of maturity about him. Alma also discovered he preferred to put his deep voice to use in Common Tongue because, unlike most of the others, he was ashamed of his heritage. Yet he reminded her that it never meant he liked humans more - he was simply embarrassed about what the elves had been put through and how most reacted.

Andrea was aged one hundred and sixty-nine, but due to how old he was and all he’d seen, was most distrusting of strangers. Particularly humans, naturally, but he hadn’t yet warmed up to Alma. By all standards, the blonde was rather handsome and was obviously of elven heritage. Furthermore, he was always so quiet and calm, therefore hard to read. He reminded Alma of Dettlaff in his countenance. Frightening and mysterious, but she was drawn to him. Though she was never drawn to the elf in the way she had been to Dettlaff. Nevertheless, the similarities stung her heart.

Emmi was in her sixties, remarkably three-quarters elf, and had fiery yellow-green eyes Alma had a hard time looking away from. She also shaved one side of her reddish hair, which only added to her tough attitude. Admittedly she was also frightening, but Alma soon learned she was helpful in her own way. And above all, she was loyal to the little family she’d grown to be a part of - and to her ornate dagger.

Lastly, Colin was the one Alma had taken quite the liking to. He, too, was a half-elf and was even younger than her - only twenty-four. He had blue-green eyes, messy blonde hair, and always wore a red bandana around his head which he used to cover up the slight points of his ears. Especially because, unlike Alma, he looked more human. And he was very timid and sweet. But, like Alma, he’d been through much indeed. Over this, they bonded.

In such a short time, these elves had become some of the few people who knew about where she came from and where she was going and why. They became a family of sorts, perhaps the only kind she’d ever had. And they were teaching her how to open up. Yet the only thing she didn’t tell them about were Regis and Dettlaff. Especially the latter. After all, her opening up got her to admit other things to herself. Things she’d been hiding in the back of her mind and hoping she wouldn’t have to face.

She left someone in Fen Carn she was never able to get out of her mind. Someone she was inexplicably enthralled by, whose faraway presence told her to go back and find him. But she couldn’t let herself do such a thing. She wasn’t sure why she couldn’t, but her doubts were telling her it was because of something like love. Something Alma was  _ certain _ , at least in her conscious, she was unable to have and keep and nurture the way she should.

This Alma never told the others, and never planned to. It was under lock and key within her, even though it hurt to keep it there. Yet she knew it would hurt either way. Furthermore, she knew that if she let it out, her feet would carry her back to Brugge.

Extracting herself from her mind, Alma looked around the room from where she sat in the corner. Andrea was resting his eyes in his makeshift bed but Alma learned that when he did this, he was listening carefully. The other four were on the large rug in the middle of the room, Colin watching his three friends play gwent.

“ _ Hah _ !” shouted Emmi. “You can’t beat a monster deck, I told ya!”

“You got lucky,” Chindral muttered, tossing his cards down. Filara moved to reshuffle the decks, then Emmi looked up.

“You sure you don’t want to play, Alma?” she smirked. Alma shook her head and Emmi shook her own in feigned disappointment. Then something else occurred to Alma as she drifted into her thoughts again:  _ if Maribor hates elves so much, how have we not been caught? _

She asked this aloud and Chindral turned to her first.

“Because the old man that attacked you - his name’s Lee - owns the city out of fear now. His crew of about twenty hunt elves especially.  _ However _ , one of the members’ mother owns the theatre just around the corner.”

“The one we told you about - that helps us stay hidden and get supplies. She has respect for nonhumans, which is seldom seen here anymore. But we owe her our lives,” Filara finished.

Alma was suspicious of this. After all, she hated being held on what appeared to be a leash. This woman could turn them over at any moment, and their lives truly did depend on her decisions.

Clearly, this read on Alma’s face.

“See, she’s got her head on right!” Emmi shouted. “She sees that the situation  _ stinks _ .”

“Yeah, well, it’s all we’ve got!” Chindral said back. Emmi crossed her arms with a pout, but winked at Alma, who still didn’t know what to say. After all, she understood Chindral’s point too. Sometimes, it was all one could do to settle. Just as she’d done with her overpriced bread.

Alma sunk back into her seat as the others silently continued their game. For about an hour they sat like this, until Andrea rose from his bed. Without breaking the quiet, he stalked over to Alma and kneeled beside her. It was so unexpected and Alma thought he disliked her, so she refused to look at him. Then he said, “Come with me.”

“...What?”

Andrea went back to his feet and held out a hand.

“Come with me.”

Skeptical, Alma stood. She didn’t take his hand and it didn’t seem to faze him. He moved to the door and she went along at his heels, the others still not noticing and saying nothing. She wanted to ask what this was about, but nothing came from her once again.

In the light of midday, Andrea stopped in the little yard beside their one-room home, which was really just a big square of mud due to the rains of the last night. Then he took out two shortswords Alma hadn’t previously noticed. They looked elven, and given how old he was, she wouldn’t be surprised if they were genuine and, now, worth quite a lot of money. Her mouth fell open.

“I know you’ve been upset about losing your bow,” he began. Then he kicked to her two dirty sticks about the size of his swords and she picked them up slowly.

“I can get a new one,” she softly said, shrugging. Andrea scoffed.

“No, you can’t. We know that bow was authentic, and I’m afraid they only sell human bows here. And since you haven’t given them a thought, it’s clear you can’t use one.”

Alma stayed silent and to this, Andrea laughed. It was a surprisingly happy sound.

“Don’t fret, young one. That’s why I’m teaching you how to wield these.”

“That doesn’t seem to help me if I don’t own any of my own.”

Andrea smirked, “You may yet. You see, I have no use for them. But  _ you _ \- you’re going somewhere, with a purpose. And it seems you’ve made a few enemies on the way.”

“Your safety here isn’t guaranteed.”

“No, but yours is being compromised. Let me help you.”

Alma sighed, giving him a half-hearted nod. Besides, she was glad to have something to occupy all the free time she had. And she was glad to see Andrea wasn’t truly as cold as he seemed.

“Hold them as I am,” said the he-elf. “And make sure you’re standing like this.”

Alma carefully observed him and obeyed. He made sure she’d done it correctly and, over the next hour, then taught her a number of new tricks. As she was a quicker learner than she expected, she was even able to upgrade from muddy sticks.

“They’re lighter than I expected,” she gazed at the expertly crafted blades, looking sharp enough to cut diamond and beautiful enough for the gods.

“Indeed, but they’re extremely effective.”

“I’ll bet.”

“Now practice what I’ve taught you.”

Alma felt afraid to be holding such weapons, but Andrea assured her with a silent, confident nod as he moved against the building. She faced the other wall and adjusted her footing.

Then, as Andrea did, Alma performed the steps with grace and strength. It was odd at first to be fighting without her beloved bow, but it grew more natural, for her pain and abandonment always surrounded her. It always stood in front of her as a disgusting, moaning wraith. She carried it in her very blood, but she was beginning to do just as Filara told her to. She was turning her bitterness into a tool to forge her new future - no matter what weapon she wielded on the way.

“Good,” Andrea said as she froze, still facing the other wall. “You’re a very fast learner.”

“I suppose I am.”

“Now knock these out of my hands.”

Alma turned. Andrea was holding the sticks from earlier with sparks in his eyes and confidence in his hands.

“Ready?”

“Yes.”

 

“I know you told me about your family, but I didn’t tell you about mine, did I?”

Alma tore her eyes away from the map she was studying diligently and looked over at her fellow half-elf. Then she looked at the others, who were either deep in sleep or falling to it in their own beds.

“No,” she looked back at Colin. “But I don’t want you to if you feel uncomfortable.”

Colin gifted her a bittersweet, lopsided smile.

“You’re the only person I’ve met who kind of knows what I’m going through. And the other four...they’re all pretty old. I’ve felt alone here for a while.”

With a jolt in her heart, Alma whispered back, “I know how that feels.”

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, they’re great. And they’re nice to me. But…”

“No, I understand. Don’t worry.”

Colin gave the same smile as before and moved from his bed to hers, making Alma put the map over her crossed legs instead.

“That’s why I want to tell you.”

“Well, then, go on. If you really want to.”

Colin took a deep breath and Alma watched him closely. She noticed how he held his hands tightly together and didn’t look at her face while speaking. How he took pauses in between his sentences. It was a nervousness she knew all too well.

Then he told her of how he had a perfectly, completely human half-sister who was only fifteen and about to marry. How he knew exactly where his parents were, as well as who was considered to be his step-father. His mother had a few nights with an elf long ago and produced him before disowning him, largely because her new husband was “too good” for her to ruin with her shameful baggage. And his sister, who didn’t at all look like his sister, knew who he was but never looked him in the eye. Even when he made futile attempts to get into contact with the family and help them any way he could.

But the most important part of his story was his true father. The elf.

“He’s in Maribor. I speak to him somewhat regularly.”

“You get along?”

“Not at all. I mean, it’s not bad necessarily… It’s neutral.”

“Neutral?”

“He doesn’t matter to me. He’s a drunk who frequents the tavern we go to every week or so. I make small talk with him. Meaningless small talk. But he doesn’t matter. He’ll never matter because he never tried to.”

And it was at that point that Alma’s heart felt like a rock, for she started to wonder why she cared so much about her own father. Chances were, he was in the same situation. And even if he wasn’t, why would he be anything but worthless? Was she truly going to waste so much time on revenge she wasn’t even sure she could follow through with? And what was a conversation going to accomplish? After all, anything that happened in the past, even if it wasn’t as she’d always thought, wouldn’t affect her future.

Colin stopped caring. So much so that he didn’t hate nor love his father, or the rest of his family. It just didn’t matter because he’d found a family elsewhere. A family of old elves who’d put their past behind them and spent their nights laughing and playing gwent on a stained rug. It was as Chindral said - it was all they had. But it wasn’t undesirable.

Colin noticed Alma’s silence. And he seemed to understand her because he said nothing, merely moved to his bed, and closed his eyes in the candlelight. Slowly, Alma looked down at her map. She’d circled Oxenfurt and Novigrad. Then her eyes darted to the little corner by the Rivers Ina and Yaruga. To the unmarked area she knew was Fen Carn and a little cabin owned by a barber-surgeon.

Alma considered changing her route and the goal she’d been fixated on for some time. And she could always come back and find a new future, out of Maribor, with the elves surrounding her. Along with that someone who never left her mind.

Yet Alma couldn’t decide. She wanted answers so badly, and she couldn’t resist facing her father to, at the least, punch him in the jaw. So without a conclusion, Alma folded the map up and blew out the candles next to her.

But the horrid, moaning wraith always standing before her, bound to her by her wilting family tree, was still visible in the darkness.


	12. Temerian Daybreak

A couple more chilly days passed and while Alma got better at wielding blades over a bow (and throwing knives, as Emmi was enthusiastic to teach her), she had yet to figure out her journey’s dilemma. Was she to continue her planned route or return south? Was she to spend time on uncertain revenge or on even more uncertain romance?

Neither one was easy. And because of the sheer difficulty of merely picking, she simply grew apathetic and stared at a map or read up on the lands she was to travel most of her hours. She even joined the elves’ gwent games on a few occasions - and found out she was terrible at cards.

A new problem also bubbled up in her mind and it was her desire to have the elves go with her. After all, she wasn’t particularly interested in leaving them since they were now her family, in truth. And fierce company could provide protection against the dangers of the lands. But how to approach the subject, she didn’t have the slightest clue. She was a newcomer there and it was quite possible her requests were unwelcome. Even though it was an unstable situation, the elves had something in Maribor. They had something they were unlikely to get elsewhere and Alma understood it. So she remained silent.

On that third day, while Alma was sitting on the roof enjoying an apple, she saw Andrea come out of the home with his swords in his hand. They were wrapped up in a soft olive cloth.

“Come down, young one,” he grinned. Slowly, still with no words, Alma jumped on the empty crate before him and then to the hard ground. Then she looked at him until he spoke.

“I want to give you these.”

Alma looked down, suddenly feeling shock pool up in her heart. But because her conflict ate at her, it didn’t show all too well. In fact, she was certain it didn’t look like anything like shock. Andrea furrowed his shapely brows and his grin faded.

“Why have you been so worried lately?”

“A number of reasons,” the former archer muttered. Andrea exhaled through his nose and lowered his blades, stepping aside to sit on the crate. He patted the space next to him and she sat, the wood creaking beneath them. It was the only sound against the silence of the morning. So few people were about now that it was getting colder.

“What about?”

Alma was quiet again. She decided not to broach the subject of them possibly accompanying her at all. But she decided she could tell the elf about those who’d stayed on her mind all this time.

“Before I came to Maribor… Well,” Alma sighed. At last she found the right words. “Almost a month ago, I was with these two men. Humans. And of course I didn’t trust them at first...but then I came to. And oddly enough, it didn’t take that long. But since I have this mission to go to Redania, I had to leave them.”

Andrea looked confused. She knew much of it was because he’d never really trusted a human. Especially as quickly as she had Regis and Dettlaff.

“There’s more to this story,” he suddenly deduced. Alma nodded and was quiet for even more time.

“One of them is older. He’s a surgeon and herbalist, and… Well, even though I haven’t met many humans, I can still say he’s the nicest I’ve met. He gives good advice, you know?”

Alma then laughed. It felt bittersweet on her tongue.

“I almost wish… Oh, this is silly, but I almost wish he was a father figure to me. Or a mentor. Something. I’ve never had anything like that in my life and I’ve really longed for it. And...he’s got that sort of personality.”

Andrea was quiet. Alma wanted him to say something but he didn’t. She knew he was waiting for what more there was, because there was a whole lot to add. It was why her voice kept getting caught in the prison of her belly and why she stayed awake at night. Why, when she looked at a map, her eyes more often stared at Fen Carn than it did Novigrad.

“And the other?” the he-elf whispered at long last. Alma was still quiet. She turned her half-eaten apple over in her hands and stared at the parts that were going brown.

“The other… I like him.”

“It’s more than that.”

“Of course it’s more than that.”

A beat.

“Why?”

“Why do I like him or why am I still wanting to go north?”

Andrea chuckled, “Perhaps both.”

“He’s...like me. We’ve similar temperaments and we’ve been hurt by those we loved, or rather those we thought loved us. We both don’t really know what we’re doing. We’re both bitter but...we don’t want to be. I guess that’s how I’d put it.”

And this time, Andrea said nothing at all. Even after several minutes.

Alma’s stomach was churning once again so she threw the apple aside and got up. She moved to go back indoors but then the elf’s hand grabbed hers. She stopped in her place before feeling the soft green cloth she’d only looked at before.

“You have more use for them than me, I promise you.”

 

At last, Alma decided where she wanted to go. It took her a few more days, but she figured it out. Because while she was sitting on the roof, wrapped up in a cloak as the first snowfall had happened overnight, she began to think seriously about what would happen in either situation.

She imagined walking to Regis’ old cabin in the light of day, heart pounding and palms sweaty. And she imagined encountering Dettlaff first as he exited the small abode. In her mind, she could picture the scene exactly as it was when they said goodbye to each other. It was as if she could feel his presence and it made her more nervous. And she realized with a sudden sting there was  _ no way  _ he would reciprocate those feelings in the slightest.

He was always so composed and charming, knew so much more than her even though she wanted to believe he was as lost as she was. But in truth, she was only a naive, young fool and couldn’t bear to look either of them in the eye again. For she was simply not worth their time.

Alma was going to Redania. Furthermore, she was going alone.

The elves found out she was to leave soon without having to ask her. Chindral noticed the way she always had her things ready and was just waiting for the right moment to say goodbye. Both Filara and Colin took great care in reading her silence, especially since she’d asked Andrea to repeat to them what she’d said as they didn’t deserve to be in the dark. And Emmi had begun to keep track of how often she went up to the roof - which was most of her waking hours.

She’d been in Maribor for just over two weeks and the current day was the one she planned on saying her farewells. But it pained her terribly, so she was putting it off. She spent her morning on the roof once again while Filara and Chindral went out for supplies. Colin and Andrea both attempted to speak to her, but it was this time she truly wanted to be alone. They were respectful of it.

It was around noon when the other two came back. They were carrying in two large bags of food, winter clothes, and soap when they attempted to speak to her as well.

“Alma,” declared Filara. Alma didn’t look down as her insides started to spin again. She didn’t want to say goodbye, but she had to leave before nightfall. There were only five more hours of daylight at that.

“Alma,” Chindral repeated. And the young half-elf looked down only briefly, “I don’t wish to speak.”

“That’s fine, but this is a matter more urgent. Come inside so everyone can hear,” Filara replied. Then they went inside rapidly and Alma, furrowing her eyebrows, silently followed.

The two elves put their things on the floor and then stood there, looking concerned. As Alma sat at her bed and looked at them even longer, she realized this worry was even more noticeable by the second.

“Well? What is it?” Emmi demanded, rising with her hands on her hips. Chindral bit his lip.

“Lee and his men are in the theatre,” he said, eliciting a gasp from most of the others. Except Alma. She figured this sort of thing was to happen since her arrival. “We barely got out as they came in, but we were able to catch most of the conversation after.”

“And?” Andrea sat up, eyes narrowed. Suddenly, both of the other pairs of glossy, concerned eyes fell on Alma.

“They’re after  _ you _ .”

Alma shifted uncomfortably, but figured now was good a time as ever for her farewells. She immediately got up and grabbed her weapons with trembling, eager hands. Andrea’s blades she hesitated with.

“What are you doing?” Colin asked.

“I’ve been meaning to leave,” Alma shook her head, not looking any of them in the eye as hers were tearing up. “So now’s a good time before he does find me.”

“The troupe doesn’t know about you, we never introduced you,” Andrea said. Alma shrugged.

“But Lee knows I’m with you lot. He and his men  _ saw  _ you help me. Besides, who else would I be with?”

“For all he knows, you coulda left the city,” Emmi shook her head with a glint in her eye. Alma shook her head this time, even more vigorous. She was finally able to look at all of them.

“I’m leaving and that’s that. I’ve been meaning to anyway, and I  _ won’t  _ put you in danger. Do you understand?”

There was a long silence. Each of them had one of two expressions; they all either held a sadness she was not at all used to, an indication that she would truly be missed, or - in Andrea and Emmi’s case - they stared at her to figure her out. As if there was anything to figure out.

However, Andrea rose to his feet and approached her first, while the others remained completely motionless. He pointed to his blades.

“Tell me you will use those wisely.”

“Of course. I haven’t got my bow.”

Though she still did carry her quiver. She didn’t lose hope that she’d get her beloved weapon back, or at least be able to get another. Somewhere.

“And...are you going south?”

Alma hesitated.

“No.”

“ _ No _ ?” cried all five of them. Then Alma looked around and each of them looked bewildered, much to her own surprise.

“I didn’t realize you were so invested,” she mumbled. “But it’s nothing. It’s no big deal.”

But it was. Despite the certainty with which she concluded Dettlaff would never feel for her, her own emotions were still ever so present.  _ Those  _ she would have to live with for some time.

“Even though you’re possibly leaving love behind,” Filara crossed her arms. Alma flinched at the word she’d used. It was not something she’d said out loud as of yet. Nor was it something she was exactly looking forward to even if such a heavy thing existed.

“I’m not leaving anything behind. He doesn’t feel anything for me, so don’t worry about it. Or me. Redania it is,” Alma adjusted her satchel with the map and some provisions. As she’d done when she last said goodbye to the brooding yet charming man from Nazair.

“I’ve a father to speak to,” she forced out. Next, Colin rose quickly and grabbed her hand. He whispered in a desperate voice, “Don’t bother with him. He doesn’t matter.”

“Colin, you  _ know  _ your story. You know your parents, even if they’re worthless. I don’t have any of that. I don’t even have a  _ shred  _ of closure.”

There was a silence even more deadly than any she’d shared in that room. It was the kind of silence she faced when she was traveling on her own, after the fire died and she was trying to bundle up and sleep as well as possible. The kind of quiet that submerged her in the only thing her parents left her with - loneliness.

“At least let us help you out of the city,” Chindral declared. Filara’s eyes widened with excitement at the idea, as did Emmi’s.

“Yes! To Maribor’s limits!  _ At least _ ,” said the eldest woman. And at last, all five elves turned to Alma for her answer. She appreciated their efforts in giving her a choice, and appreciated even more the way they looked at her. They were sad to see her go but were happy and brave in aiding her departure. And with this, she knew she would come back to them another day.

“You can do that. But if any of you get hurt… I won’t be able to li--”

“We won’t, young one,” Andrea cut her off, smiling slightly.

“Yes,” added Chindral. “You needn’t worry about us. We’re here to help you, as we have since you arrived.”

“You’re family now,  _ sor’ca _ ,” Emmi winked, and she stowed her dagger back at her hip and stretched. Alma looked around at the others and saw Colin nodding in agreement and Filara simply grinning. The half-elf wished to cry at the very sight.

“When do we leave?” she asked through a cracking voice.

“Nightfall. Lee’s men patrol the streets at night, but it’s still our best chance of getting out without being seen,” Filara replied. And Alma nodded, feeling her heart swell. It was a shame she had to leave again.

 

When they exited the house at around four in the morning - hoping by then Lee’s men would be tired - the lazy gaze of the November night sky fell upon them. Alma took a moment to stare, as she’d always been in love with the stars.

“Ready,  _ sor’ca _ ?” Chindral asked. Alma looked over and saw the courageous and stony faces of the five elves before her. She smiled softly.

“Yes.”

“Let’s go. Chindral and I will lead,” Filara muttered. The other elves then spread themselves out to provide both eyes and protection from all directions. Alma grew nervous that they would get hurt, but the grip on the elven dagger they all gifted her shortly before grew tight and she felt a bit better. And ever so grateful for what they’d done for her.

The stealthy elves moved through Maribor as quick as possible. As Alma had yet to traverse the city at night, the torches on the walls created rather sinister shadows. And to top it off, the guards were indeed Lee’s men. They obviously outnumbered the Duke’s own soldiers.

“We must be careful and only go through alleys.”

“How far to the outskirts?” Alma asked, seeing her breath was just slightly visible.

“Depends on what we face along the way,” Andrea mumbled. And to this Alma shivered. She didn’t want to face that terrible old man again. Nor any of those under his command. She feared what would happen if they actually caught her.

On uneven cobblestones the group continued to flee, their footsteps barely detectable by a normal human. Giant buildings painted white with reddish wood frames passed her and the lights were off in most. The city slept, though six elves and many more men hostile to them did not.

“We have to cross one main street,” Filara whispered suddenly. “But then it’s a few more alleys and then the city limits. We can just cross the river and avoid the gates.”

“It’s freezing!” Emmi hissed.

“Better than death,” Alma returned. “Besides, you’re not crossing the river with me. Just take me there since you said you’d help me leave the city. And that’s that.”

Filara looked dissatisfied, but still nodded. The others seemed to agree too, though grudgingly. And, as if only moments had passed, Filara and Chindral both were peering out of the alley into what Alma assumed was a large and patrolled street. After all, the width of the path was larger and horses slept at their posts. The torches carried by guards and Lee’s men floated on darkness like ghosts themselves. And they would have to be as quick as they could, and go one at a time.

“I’ll go first. Alma should follow,” Chindral said. Then he looked back for her reaction and she nodded, despite her stomach twisting like none other.

Then Chindral began and everyone held their breath. And he was swift and stealthy and should not have been caught under any circumstances. But Lee’s men were more vigilant at four in the morning than the elves hoped.

“Elf! Stop!” one shouted. And Filara’s immediate reaction was to join the man, who’d stumbled at the sudden yell. Her own torches flared in her face. And with her movement, the others joined. Alma, afraid, was the last to end up with them. And it was a grave error, for the others might’ve made it out. Lee was after Alma, and Alma only.

Alma stood with that little family of hers, finally seeing what the others peered at moments before. The night was dry and biting, but the ground still appeared wet from the recent snowfall and she could see the reflections of the guard’s shadows and their fires. What else caught her eye, though, were the stars reflecting on the blades they held. And she suddenly realized none of the men surrounding them were the Duke’s guards. And each also carried ugly, sinful smiles.

“Split up,” s aid a desperate Chindral. “ _ Veloë _ .”

_ Quickly _ .

It only took the elves a second more to do so. Alma thought it was a horrid idea, but also a great one considering they would chase her and not the others. Or so she hoped.

Alma hesitated without letting the others know what she was up to. And she let the men keep their eyes on her.

“ _ You _ !” shouted one man whose face she couldn’t see, but who was pointing to her. And she recognized the cold, raspy voice. It was Lee. “I’ll skin you myself, half-breed!”

Then Alma ran at last, down an empty alleyway as the closest man lunged at her - and missed. Her adrenaline felt to be too much, working steadily against her as her legs didn’t feel quite right. Each unbalanced step was full of fear and desperation. Her mind was full of horrors of the things she knew those men would do to her if she fell into their clutches.

Alma turned into a break in the path, hearing the heavy footsteps of burly humans behind her. She couldn’t tell how close they were, though.

Then she stopped in the middle of the next street, for Colin was there. And one man was holding a knife to his throat. An old smile with few teeth greeted her as she came upon the scene.

“Ah,  _ you’re  _ the one Lee wants.”

Alma felt like crying very suddenly, but held it together as best she could. She put her trembling hands up and, at Colin’s petrified face, said, “Yes. Let him go. Take me.”

“Alma!”

It was not Colin who’d yelled. It was Filara, who’d come to the scene with the other three in unison. And then Alma told the old man again, “Let him go. You get me in return. Leave these elves alone.”

And then Colin was tumbling to the ground and the man approached her and laughed a very odd, disgusting laugh. Then he licked his lips and Alma realized this man was undoubtedly hopped up on fisstech. So perhaps she could get away from him.

“Come on, girlie!” he chuckled, putting out an arm. His knife was pointed and dangerous in his other hand. But she took the risk anyway, especially as a few of the men chasing them ran to the street as well.

She looked at the other elves quickly, who were in shock. They looked like they wanted to help - even Emmi had a knife poised to throw the moment the man touched her - but she shook her heads at them.

“Run. Go home. I’ll be fine.”

“Ha, ha! I wouldn’t be so sure lovel--”

Alma leapt forward and put her knee to the old man’s crotch, and he fell groaning. But as he fell, he was able to grab her ankle. She didn’t fall to the ground, but was halfway standing as her hands caught her. Next, once she got back to her feet and turned around with a gasp, a fist smacked her. The skin of her cheek burned as it was torn open. Alma stepped back instinctively and as her eyes cleared the water, the man groaned. And a dagger stuck right out of his shoulder as he fell to the ground again, screaming.

Alma looked over, unable to breathe. And the elves gave her one last very sad look, which she returned without thinking. And the men behind her shouted right before Filara yelled, “Run,  _ sor’ca _ !”

And Alma, in great pain and with tears welling in her eyes again, ran another time. This time, she vowed silently, she would risk nothing, and she would stop for nothing. Even when her lungs were about to burst.

She ran through the alleys, kicking up dirt and panting like a wounded dog. And on cobblestones she continued to flee, hearing Lee’s men drift off behind her as she was finally starting to lose them. But she wasn’t about to let false certainty of it stop her. She kept going until reaching the outskirts of Maribor, seeing the still river the elves mentioned. Off to the left was the bridge and main gates lit up by torches and the Duke’s guards, which she would not risk going near. And from that distance, they most definitely couldn’t see her. It was just her trying to catch her breath in the frigid late autumn morning, in the midst of a scary and raging silence.

Then Alma didn’t hesitate in stepping into the still, blue stream. She knew if she thought too much about it, she wouldn’t go and then she could be caught. And when she stopped at all, she would think of the sadness and loss slowly consuming her. So she moved into the water and with a freeze like knives all over, and suddenly worried about hypothermia. But kept going. The half-elf with nothing but fear behind her and a fickle journey ahead could not stop moving.

And though the water weighed down her clothes, she stuck to that even after she arose from the bust-deep water. Perhaps an hour or so later, Maribor was only in the distance and her lungs indeed felt as if they were about to burst inside her. Ahead of her, she saw the trading route going straight to Dorian alongside a spread of trees. All around her were, however, the beautiful fields the heart of Temeria was known for, looking majestic despite the plants taking their leave for the upcoming season.

Yet it made no true difference to her. Usually she was able to admire such scenes, especially as daybreak arrived at long last. But her whole body was aching and longing for rest so horribly that she simply collapsed to stare at the scene in front of her, at the blinding orange filling the horizon. Alma could not look at it long, though, for the faces of the elves so kind to her were on her mind and brought great tears to her eyes again. Alongside them, haunting her, was the man from Nazair she’d decided to leave behind for good.

Though Alma had made her decisions, that did not mean she was happy with them. It was merely what she ought to do, or what was forced to do. And once more, Alma was left in the cold, with only dreams lost to her and the nightmares plaguing her reality.


	13. In Her Wake

A few days before Alma crossed the freezing stream in the early morning, the vampires came across a campsite that was hers shortly before she arrived in Maribor. It was obvious to Regis that they were not going quickly enough, or rather that Dettlaff felt they were severely behind. The medic thought he was merely worrying - as he was wont to about those he cared for - but Dettlaff insisted Alma was in great peril. Part of the reason Regis denied it was because he didn’t want to believe it himself. But it was very, very possible.

They also knew it was her campsite for a few reasons. Dettlaff immediately sensed her lingering smell, and Regis did as well for that matter. It was a mix of deep forest, vanilla, and wildflowers. Furthermore, under the roots of a tree, in the little nook she slept in, were a few long hairs that could only belong to the dear half-elf. Curly, brown, and unmistakable.

“We should be able to trail her scent,” Regis stated. Dettlaff, standing in place and looking off to where she must have gone, simply nodded.

“And if we cannot?” he asked after a beat.

“Then I suggest we try Maribor first. It is the closest municipality.”

“Would she not try to avoid cities?”

“Perhaps. But I reckon if she got this far, she ran out of food and it is too cold for game. She likely would’ve tried to rest in the city.”

Dettlaff let out a quiet grunt in response. Regis could not determine what he was thinking, but he could take a silent guess that it was the same as the last several days. He was being eaten away by the concern and longing for the woman he now loved. He was afraid that she would reject him the moment she found out about his nature. He was aching to see her and make sure she was safe.

Regis knew they would find her, and he knew they would do it soon, as Dettlaff would not settle for less. He only wished his blood brother could live with the same certainty.

 

It didn’t take them long to catch up with the half-elf even more. Finding a place she’d previously stayed helped them track her much easier - so precisely that they were literally on her trail for the next couple of days. However, a faded scent was easy to lose once they got to Maribor. There was no possible way to distinguish any scent mixed in with all the delights of the place.

“Do you think she’s still here?” Dettlaff asked, eyes wandering the cityscape.

“There’s only one way to find out. We’ll have to look for her.”

To this, Dettlaff grew uneasy. But nothing would truly stop him until he found Alma safe and sound.

The vampires went around the main gates and slipped past the wall on the other side. They trekked through a large area of run-down houses, no one paying them any mind. Especially because few people were out now at all.

In hopes of catching her or a trace of her, they walked around for some time. Regis was doing his best to think about where a half-elf would go in a city such as this. It was difficult largely due to the fact that he knew little about Maribor, which was not something he often said about any subject. One thing that he did not know and wished he did was the city’s tolerance or lack thereof for nonhumans. It made all the difference in the world when trying to find one.

“She’ll probably be under a cloak,” Dettlaff muttered. Regis looked over, “Why?”

It was a silly question he didn’t need to ask. In fact, understanding the city actually had little to do with finding her. Alma aep Taldir wished to be hidden no matter what. She didn’t understand the rules of specific cities at such a young age, and with so little experience. Alma always took the safest route.

Dettlaff repeated this simply. In such a way that indicated he understood well. After all, despite not owning a cloak of his own, his discomfort of being discovered by the human gaze was clear. He walked quickly and kept his eyes down whenever he could, but strained to look perfectly normal - also to avoid being noticed.

They walked only for what felt like a blink of an eye but was likely several minutes. Finally, something caught Regis’ eye.

A man with slightly tattered clothes and unkempt facial hair leaned against the side of an abandoned shop. He was paying no mind to those around him - a few shouting merchants and a blacksmith all. He was gazing at the elongated weapon in his hands, pulling on the string and running his fingers over the beautifully decorated handle and limbs. One did not have to be close to know it was brilliantly made, and extremely rare to boot. It was a bow only of elven craftsmanship: a bow Regis had seen on many mornings. A bow, as Dettlaff immediately noted, that was in the _wrong hands_.

Regis put a hand on his friend’s arm, indicating that they at least try to speak to him calmly. Dettlaff, anger in his eyes, motioned impatiently for the barber-surgeon to get on with it. And Regis did, knowing well he had to do it quickly before the other would waste no time breaking bones.

“Hello, sir,” Regis approached coolly. The man looked up and eyed them both.

“Whatchoo want?” he licked his rotting teeth, two of which were missing. Regis softly sighed.

“I’d like to know where you got that bow.”

“Huh?”

“That bow, in your hands,” the vampire pointed, making the man look down. “Where did you get it?”

The man let out a laugh. Then he picked some of his front teeth with a dirty finger.

“You’d like to know, huh?” he chuckled harder. “‘Fraid I can’t tell you that! Lee’s official business.”

Regis opened his mouth to question the name, but he was out of the time he was so crossly granted. Dettlaff’s gloved hand grabbed the front of the man’s shirt and with little effort, the vampire lifted him off the ground. The man’s eyes bulged out of their sockets and he choked a little.

“I see we should have restated the question. _Where is the woman you stole that from_?”

“I-I don’t know!”

Dettlaff wordlessly pinned him against the wall with more force. The man’s face began to turn red and Regis took the opportunity to grab the bow from him.

“Please,” he gasped, “I don’t know nothin’! Another one of Lee’s boys gave it to me, told me to keep it on me!”

“Who is this Lee?”

“H-he runs a gang here. They hate nonhumans. I-I don’t care neither way, I ju-just need the money! _Please_!”

Dettlaff growled. Regis remained in place, but grew tense as he was increasingly aware the nearby merchants were catching on.

“Hurry it up, Dettlaff,” he muttered. And the other did. He pressed the man against the wall harder. Regis heard something crack and the man attempted to holler.

“No,” he said to the man. “You know more. You just _think_ I’ll spare you due to impatience. _But I have more time than you know_.”

There was a pause as the man whimpered, but Regis suddenly saw in his eyes that it was true. He hesitated, naturally, but the humans’ natural fear of death got to him. After all, there was no way he was going to get out of Dettlaff’s grip.

“F-f-fine! I don’t know nothin’ ‘bout the lass, but they’re after her. Said she got away and left the city just last night! Th-they’re after her! But you’ve-you’ve no chance if--”

“ _Which way did she go_?”

“ _N-northwest_! Crossed the river, she did! Toward Dorian! That’s all I know! I’m just a lookout keepin’ th--”

Dettlaff dropped the man quickly. He fell on the ground with a loud gasp, grasping at his neck and chest. Then Dettlaff turned back toward the street and just like that, every curious merchant looked away and continued with his business. Dettlaff then stood back in place, clenching and unclenching his fists as he did when he was furious and in thought.

“My friend--”

“She shouldn’t have left. Not alone.”

Regis sighed.

“I know,” he replied. “But--”

“I knew something was amiss, Regis. _I told you_.”

“Yes, you did. And I will make a note to believe you next time. For now, we have to go after her and get to her before this Lee does. I have a feeling what he has in store for her is not pleasant.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> surprise! it didn't take me a month to get this chapter up! thank you to those of you who are so patient and actually still reading (therefore way too nice to me). x


	14. The Ravens

**** Soon, being hunted became the least of Alma’s worries. Or, if it was of great concern, it most certainly was not the only one.

She cursed herself at every waking moment for not making better decisions. She could have done a number of things that would’ve been safer and happier. She could have listened to Regis’ calm advice and stayed in Fen Carn through to spring. She could have laid low with the elves as they said a little longer, left the city in a better, smarter way. Alma could and should have abandoned her revenge and closure. Yet it was like the air she breathed. Her future elsewhere was uncertain and unlikely. Her family ties, in a sense, made her all she was and was to be.

Alma kept going with that thought still and frozen in her mind. The very same thoughts of persistence that carried her out of Maribor. Despite shivering as she trekked for miles through the thin snow, Alma focused on the two things that would remain with her and provide her safety: her blades and her blood.

 

Temeria was the same everywhere she went. It was always white with grey skies, accompanied by the occasional tree made of black lightning. There were no animals. Not even ravens signalling the winter, the death of all things.

At night she attempted to take shelter underneath these trees, but seldom would it do anything for her. She had to tuck her limbs as close to her as possible and hope her thin cloak and satchel would keep her from both cold and illness. However, she worried about more than that within a few days. The provisions she was left with were gone. And she could not hunt nor scavenge.

Alma was sure, shortly after, that she’d passed the town called Dorian not even a week into her trip. So she quickly gave up on it, especially since she’d intentionally strayed from the trading route that led there. Instead, she climbed over rolling hills of snow with not a building in sight - only black trees and her lonely trail of footprints. Yet, she counted her blessings - Lee had not yet found her.

 

Alma kept moving as long as she could, but she’d learned during her trip to Maribor that she also needed to preserve her energy. Whenever she felt tired - which was often - she sat down and filled her canteen with snow or made sure the laces on her boots were tight enough.

The half-elf tried to focus on things like that as much as she could, too. Simple things kept her from thinking about all she felt. She never liked admitting her feelings. Therefore, she wouldn’t recognize the cold in her spine and trembling of her hands that did not come from winter, nor did she admit to the ache in her body that did not come from malnutrition. She refused to acknowledge all the horrible things trailing her, or perhaps those that lay ahead of her, and counted the trees she could see or stared at her numb fingers until it was time to move once more.

 

Around the time Alma lost count of the days, even though she knew it hadn’t been long, was also when she found out she hadn’t even gone close to Dorian. She inadvertently made it to the trading route to the village, maneuvering around the northern curve of it, and heard two resting traders saying they were a few miles east of the town. Alma also noticed they’d left their horses unattended and she could, at the least, grab one of the blankets in a saddle.

However, she pondered this for too long to do anything. They got back on the horses and continued to move, discussing things she didn’t understand such as the economy of Kaedwen. Yet Alma followed them, keeping to the trees by the road. She felt a comfort in even being around people, though she knew well neither of those men would lift a finger to help her. Plus, she needed any chance she got to grab a bite of food or a better cloak. She didn’t condone stealing, but this was the one time she would have no reservations.

They reached the town. Alma could barely see the outskirts of it, wood slats and brick making up the buildings. She hugged the side of the tree she was beside, squinting to try and see better. But there truly was nothing to see. Everything was still and the two merchants presumably went straight to the inn, if there was one. Alma let them leave her sight mostly because she now refused to go nearer. She tried to weigh her options, but her recent lack of rest and nutrition made it impossible for her to think.

A raven cawed. Alma lazily lifted her eyes toward the sound and saw a three or four on a tree. It was the first animal of any sort she’d seen since Maribor. The birds of night ruffled their feathers and remained on their static branch, even when she moved. One cawed again and she heard the clomping of horse hooves.

Anxiety suddenly pooling in her stomach, Alma stumbled and moved further into the trees. She put her hood on and remained utterly motionless as she watched four horses come into view. She squinted to see the riders, three of which were hooded. They stopped at the gates and suddenly the hoodless one spoke with a loud, raspy voice. A voice Alma recognized.

“Kind folk of Dorian, come out and speak to us!”

Slowly, people came at his confident, demanding call. There weren’t many, so Alma assumed Dorian was truly a small place. No one spoke to the man named Lee, but he continued to speak to them.

“We don’t often stray outside of our city, Maribor, but there’s a little lass we’re looking for.”

“No one new comes in but traders, sir. And they don’t stay long,” said one young man, shivering in his cheap teal shirt.

“Haven’t seen no lass either!” said a woman with a shrill voice.

“Now, now,” drawled Lee. “She’s hard to miss, this one. And we know she came this wa--”

“ _ Lee _ !” yelled one of the men. And Alma, eyes on the much scarier old man, turned to see one of the other men pointing right at her. She cursed her bad decisions again, knowing she should have run. But she realized it was an action better late than never and turned back to the forest.

The ravens flew from their post at the same time.

Alma heard heavy feet stomping behind her and fear traveled through her body in a way it hadn’t before. It was because she was completely and utterly alone in this fight, and if any of those vile men caught her, that would be that.

“We found you, half-breed! You can’t run long!” yelled a younger, hooded man. He was farther than the one only feet behind her. She didn’t look back, but she was horrified at the thought of the nearest being Lee himself.

Alma tried to pick up her pace, but she could feel what little strength she had within her waning quickly. She grew aware that the branches under her cracked at a slower pace over a mere few minutes. And she wasn’t entirely sure where she was going until she heard a couple of horses again.

Emerging from trees and back on the road, several yards from the city limits where she’d been, she turned to find two of the hooded men back on their steeds and coming for her. She fell to the ground and rolled to the other side, covered in soft, dark dirt. Then she rose, panting, and tried to keep running.

Before, her cloak occasionally got caught on a branch or dead bush, but she was always able to tug on it and keep going. This time, something caught the fabric and she was unable to pull away. She turned and saw the horrid cloudy eyes belonging to Lee. He was joyfully reaching for her. Instinctively, she lunged and punched him in the jaw, making him stumble. In his shock, Alma was able to grab her cloak again and keep going. However, only a few more steps in, the weights at her hips suddenly called to her.

“ _ Fight, sor’ca _ !  _ Defend yourself _ !” she could hear Andrea’s smooth, determined voice.

Trembling, Alma grabbed the hilts of each shortsword and drew them, a satisfying and loud  _ shink  _ coming from each as she did. She turned back around to see all four men snarling, waiting for her.

“Ha, ha, you want to dance!” Lee licked his lips, grabbing a hold of his own sword. Alma remained quiet, trying to keep her feet and breathing steady. Everything Andrea taught her came back in a fiery flood of resistance.

Alma leapt to the side first, just as the other two men got out of their saddles. Lee and a black-haired man both jumped at her and she moved away once more. Then she saw the other two just unsheathing their swords and ran at them. They prepared themselves quickly, but right before she got to them, she spun around and swung. She’d grazed the leg of one of them. Then she heard Lee and the third swordsman coming for her again and turned.

The whole scuffle was simply a matter of her dodging and coming at them from different angles, her agility being her only true aid. Yet her strength was almost gone and she started to wonder if she should have just run or if she should turn and try to run now. Perhaps she could steal a horse. Yet she’d also never learned to ride one.

Alma managed, in the fight that seemed to take hours, to slice into the collarbone of the black-haired man and take one of the others to the ground. But it was important to note that was all she accomplished.

Toward the end, while jumping away from the jab of a longsword, Lee was at her right. With hatred toward him, she spun and used the last bit of her strength to try to maim him. One of her swords clanged off of his parry. Then the disgusting man smiled and moved his sword again. Alma fought back but the blow was too heavy - her wrist twisted and she dropped the sword with a cry. Her movements were now languid and a man behind her grabbed her by the hair. She could do nothing but give up. The other shortsword fell from her hands and she became almost dead weight while Lee laughed and reached her.

“I’ll give it to ya,” he showed her his rotting, chipped teeth. “You put up a fight, love.”

Alma wanted to spit in his face or give some witty retort but came up with nothing. And a sort of blackness filled her mind, carrying with it a river of all the things she was certain they would do to her. Suddenly, Alma regretted not continuing to run and continued to realize just how stupid she was. There were a  _ thousand  _ other things she could have done and she didn’t. And she would be cursing it for the rest of her life which, she reckoned, would not be much longer.

Lee nodded to the man holding her and suddenly there was a sack over her head. She felt her hands being tied tightly, and then she was hit on the head with something very hard and freezing cold. She felt nothing more.

 

Alma woke up when she could still feel the cold sting of early winter air on her skin, but not long after she was warm as she and the men around her entered some place. It would have been a lovely, liberating feeling if not for the fact that she couldn’t see, her tired body was being dragged along, and her head hurt horribly.

She heard the wood creak under the footsteps of both men holding her, and for some reason could sense that Lee was nearby in all his horrid, hateable glory.

Though she was soon dragged downstairs. After they went through yet another door, loud as it swung open, she heard the clicking of boots on stone instead. And here, it was much colder.

Alma was taken down a long hallway and soon heard a metal door being opened. The sack was taken off of her and she was thrown to the stone floor before her eyes could even adjust. A pain ran through her knees and palms as she hit the ground. She turned, squinting, but the door closed behind her and no one said a word. Perhaps Lee hadn’t been nearby after all, because he especially enjoyed taunting her.

And Alma was left in the dark for a long time. So long to her, particularly in the state she was in, that she stopped trying to figure out just how long. Instead, she sat around and took in the uneven stone of the walls and the old, foreboding blood stains on the floor. She noted the careless pile of hay to sleep on, despite it surely being infested with disease, bugs, and mice (or all of those things). And, of course, the lone bucket for waste. There wasn’t even a window for her to watch the rays of moonlight move through the room. All she had was darkness and her own regret.

 

While the half-elf didn’t - and couldn’t - keep track of the time, she was able to get a sense of the day. Only a couple had passed, but she’d quickly caught the routine. The first sign of the day was the door opening and a guard coming in with a tray of food - a slice of stale bread, some cold vegetable, and a small glass of water that tasted a bit like dirt. This happened twice a day and was accompanied by degrading statements and a few slaps. In the middle of the day, Lee came in.

As of yet, he’d done nothing to warrant permanent scarring to her mental and physical states. He’d beat her until she could feel almost nothing and new bruises would form within the hour. Her mouth would fill with the taste of blood and she wouldn’t be able to stop from sobbing from the pain, even after he was gone. He’d grope her, mostly her breasts, and she’d force her mind to black out even though she could still hear the gruesome statements he made about her body.

Then he would leave and she’d sink to the floor and cry for a little while, eventually falling asleep when everything came to be too much. But right before she drifted off, she would reflect on where she was.

Alma had begun to accept that this was her fate and, as painful as it was, owned up to it. It was, after all, her decisions that led her to this place. It all revolved around her leaving better, safer things - Gwendeith, Fen Carn, and Maribor all. There were people and things alike that indicated her trip to Redania was a death sentence. The disapproving elves that took care of her; The wolves that attacked her in the forests of northwest Angren, almost making her turn back; Dettlaff, who wordlessly begged her to stay at the riverbank; Colin specifically, who insisted her father was not worth the dangerous trip.

And Alma hadn’t listened to a single one of them, so now she was on the icy floor of Lee’s cell, still feeling his fingers in between her legs and the bruises forming on her ribs. Her tears pooled up where her face touched the floor and she ran out of silent tears. And she was more tired than ever before, wishing she’d first starved to death underneath one of those dead trees.

 

After what she reckoned was only two or three days, two of the guards from before marched into her cell instead of giving her the usual meal. They grabbed her by the arms and dragged her out, and she didn’t fight it at all. She hardly glanced at the scenery, though the large room upstairs was notable.

There were two large windows, one of which was about halfway open. A large rug covered the floor and there was an unlit fireplace at the front of the room, where above it four swords hung proudly. Near the edges of the room were various stools and chairs. By the door was a table where most of the men sat with cards and large tankards of beer. In short, it seemed like exactly the place men like these would stay.

“ _ Ooh _ ,” a man she hadn’t seen before said in delight, “bringin’ the wench out for a little enjoyment, eh?”

“Oh, c’mon, let us have a go at ‘er, Lee!”

“She needs to pay,” said the black-haired man from before, rubbing the large bandage the covered his wound at his shoulder. He looked at Alma with nightmarish eyes.

Then Lee, standing nonchalantly in front of the fireplace and staring up at his swords, said, “After I’m done.”

There was a pause as everyone watched him. Especially Alma. Then he turned to her and for the first time she noticed the true evil that laid itself in his expression. It was tucked into each wrinkle, hidden behind his constant grin of depravity.

“I do this to every elf that comes to me,” he told her, as if remarking upon the weather. “Round out their ears and keep the points as trophies.”

He nodded suddenly to a burly man in the corner, wiggling his heavy moustache. Then he held up a long string.

If Alma had anything in her stomach, it would have come up. Lee noticed and smiled again.

“Don’t worry, yours won’t be going on that little string! I’ll hang your ears right around my neck.”

Alma then noticed in Lee’s hand a sharp knife. One, she could tell, that was used solely for cutting into people. She breathlessly looked away, catching a glimpse of the bright, cloudy sky outside through her sudden tears. A black creature suddenly came into view, perched on the window sill. She wasn’t sure anyone else noticed the lone raven, but she blinked at it, suddenly envying birds for being free. If there was anything she wished for only at that moment, it was to sprout wings and fly away.

The raven looked right at her and cawed. Then, as she thought it would, it flew away - as if mocking her. Lee’s sinister footsteps approached.

“Hold her in place,” he bellowed. And she was limply taken into the hands of someone else, held halfway up and her arms pinned painfully behind her back. Alma continued to cry but did so silently. And she kept her tired, swollen eyes at the unlit fireplace just past Lee’s shoulder, bracing herself for immense agony.

Then something else stirred in the fireplace. It wasn’t fire, nor was it ash. It was smoke, arriving suddenly and expanding throughout the room. It reached the three nearby men first, one of which held the string of ear tips, and none of them noticed. Then, literally in a heartbeat, they were all dead and limp. Blood spattered on the walls and it was as if, she thought, they’d been struck through with the sharpest of swords. Yet there was nothing there.

At first, Alma thought she was imagining things. She knew it would be likely. But she wasn’t, for all the other men stirred. Some shouted, some drew their weapons, and some looked ready to piss themselves. What mattered most, though, was that she’d been let go.

The air was still, and it was unbearably thin. Alma was afraid whatever had attacked would kill her too. Clearly, it was powerful, and she didn’t want to stick around. Yet she was frozen along with the men she hated so.

“What the hell’s there?” Lee demanded. And one of the men by the table behind her groaned, but it sounded like it was stopped in the middle. She turned and saw quite the sight.

The man with the broken neck fell and in his place stood a figure with long claws and a frightening face made of black eyes and broken, deadly fangs. She  _ must’ve  _ been hallucinating at that point, because the figure looked a lot like Regis.

The nearest man raised a spiked club and the thing, as she was inclined to call it, didn’t miss a beat. But after the first movement, she was already backing away without a thought to Lee and his men. Breath caught in her throat, she tried to tune out the subsequent yells and groans and stomping of scared men and squelching of cut flesh. Alma merely turned over a small table she hadn’t seen before and hid behind it in what was useless desperation.

Despite the terror, however, she couldn’t help but peek over the edge of the table. There was not only one. There was another that made her inclined to think she wasn’t hallucinating after all. Standing over two bleeding bodies was a similar clawed figure dressed in a black frock coat with hair black and curled. The one with a gait that only belonged to a brooding man from Nazair, the one she’d told herself to stop thinking of but never quite could.

Standing in the room and coming to her rescue were, now undeniably, Regis and Dettlaff. However, her previous understanding of them being human had come tumbling down like an old cabin rattled by a storm. And with that, a lot of things from before made more sense.

In mere moments, though, Alma looked around and realized the only person alive was Lee. Whether this was intentional, Alma didn’t know. But some part of her was glad for it.

“Hey, you  _ beast _ ! D-don’t be a coward and come at me!”

In no world and with no amount of arrogance could Lee hide the panic he was obviously feeling. And Alma didn’t blame him - saying she would hate to be him was a severe understatement. Especially as Dettlaff slowly turned to him with pure rage in his eyes. It was something even she found inexplicably frightening, but now that she knew it was him, there was a very odd comfort in it indeed.

In only a moment, Dettlaff was in front of the vile man - no, the vile monster. Long claws, looking as if they really were the sharpest swords in their own right, were run right through his torso and he could’ve done nothing to stop it.

Lee coughed up blood as Dettlaff released him, his claws receding and face looking more human. He stepped back as the one who’d hurt her horribly fell to the floor in a swelling lake of his own blood. He was dead and Dettlaff was standing before her, perfectly well and, as much as Alma hated being in need, the one who’d saved her.

Yet when she caught a glimpse of him looking up from the floor, she gasped and fell behind the table again. It was not because she was afraid of him, but it was because she wasn’t sure what she’d do when she looked into his eyes next. She’d accepted her departure and the fact that they would likely never see each other again. Yet Dettlaff had been right in that too - they were in the same room as one another and it was inevitable that they should meet once more.

Especially when a familiar hand had come beside her, extending to her help and comfort. Alma had no choice but to look up.

Despite what he’d just done, in Dettlaff’s oceanic eyes was fear. A fear of rejection that she recognized immediately - a mistrust, almost. She gaped at it for a moment, but the hand held out in front of her was irresistible. She needed to take in how he felt again, what he sounded and smelled like. So she grabbed his hand, desperate not only for companionship and safety, but to be forgiven for being foolish enough to leave.

Alma took Dettlaff’s hand and a much-needed warmth unfurled in her and she saw the fear in his eyes fade away. In its place was relief and worry at once. He pulled her closer, keeping his other hand on her back. She leaned into it unabashedly.

“Regis will retrieve your weapons. I’ll take you out of here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope you enjoyed, as always! this is one of my favorite chapters and I imagine it will be one of my favorites even when I finish this whole thing. thanks for being patient too. I've been busy but I'm trying to bring that Good Vampire Content! x


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